The Pandorica Seen Through Time
by WhooligAni
Summary: What happened to the mad Centurion and his big stone box all those centuries?
1. Chapter 1

**I've always wondered what happened to Rory while he was guarding Amy. The Romans take the Pandorica back to Rome in 118 A.D. Exactly how did that go? etc. etc. etc.**

**So, here is my attempt at re-writing history from the point of view of a mad, semi-immortal Centurion guarding a big stone box. I hope someone out there likes it and also has a bit of patience because I'm pretty sure this will take a long time to write. =)**

**Spoilers for everything up to The Big Bang and I have no right to write this...but I will.**

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><p>"<em>2,000 years Rory. You won't even sleep. You'll be conscious every second. It would drive you … mad."<em>

…

"_Listen to me; this is the last bit of advice you're going to get in a _**very**_ long time. You're living plastic but you're not immortal. I've no idea how long you'll last. And you're not indestructible so stay away from heat and radio signals when they come along. You can't heal or repair yourself any damage is permanent so for God's sake however bored you get stay out of-"_

And he was gone. In a flash. As though he'd never existed.

Rory gulped. Not sure what to do. He felt a sudden fear. Maybe the Doctor had been right. Maybe he should have gone with him. What good could one plastic Roman do anyway?

But what if?

What if someone succeeded in opening the Pandorica before future Amy could bring his Amy back to life?

What if someone tried and failed but damaged the alien box so badly that Amy ceased to be in stasis?

No, he had made the right decision. He couldn't lose her again.

Rory drew his sword and then felt a bit ridiculous. There was no enemy to fight. Just time.

Just waiting.

He sat on the box that held the only thing in the Universe that truly mattered to him and began to wait.

Rory tried not to think of the Doctors words.

At first, he thought about Amy and how they'd met.

He'd thought she was so cool but she looked right over him and why not? Rory was nothing. Not athletic. Not particularly smart.

Then Tiffany Wilson had teased Amy about her hair when they were 9 and Rory thought it was his chance. He'd stand up to her and call her a stupid face and Amy would be his best friend forever. Rory thought back to how humiliated he'd been when Tiffany'd bloodied his nose.

Amy hadn't been happy either. She'd rolled her eyes and said, "Why'd you go and do that, stupid face?" But she and Melody had helped him to the Nurse's office. He'd spend a lot of time in the Nurse's office from that point forward, usually due to something Amy and Melody had asked him or dared him to do.

But Amy only needed to ask. Rory was in love before he even understood what love was. He was totally, utterly hers and he had killed her.

Rory stood up. The light from the outside peeked into the chamber and he thought he'd take a stroll outside. Not far, mind you.

He walked around Stonehenge, and was slightly relieved that it still had the power to amaze him.

The sun had moved a bit lower by the time he began to feel a bit nervous. He'd been away from the Pandorica too long.

He made his way back, rushing more and more the closer he got and startled by how quickly he closed the distance. When he arrived, however, everything was just as he'd left it. He reached out to touch the Pandorica and felt a vague warmth, the tiniest fraction of a vibration he suspected only he could feel.

The Pandorica was safe, sitting in an already ancient room, thick with dust.

Well, that at least needed sorting.

Rory went back up to the surface and gathered weeds. He took wires from the Cyberman and bound the thick weeds to a broken branch.

"Look, Amy." He said to the gently thrumming box. "I made a broom."

The light from above had winked out and back in over and over before he'd cleared the chamber. He took all the desiccated figures; his former Auton Roman colleagues, the Daleks, and all the others and placed them in one of the antechambers he then sealed. He was surprised how much stronger he was.

He kept count of the days as they crept along. So he knew it had been exactly 23 days before he noticed he hadn't eaten anything. He hadn't drunk a drop. He hadn't felt any need to relieve himself.

"Of course," He said to the box. "I'm plastic. Why would a plastic dummy need to eat?"

Amy would have laughed at that. She'd have eaten this up. All the times she'd teased him about being a dummy and now, here he actually was a plastic dummy and … nothing. No jokes. No teasing. No Amy.

Just time.

Now that the chamber was clear, he had nothing to do.

He paced for a bit but you can only pace so long. He remembered drilling. The Roman training he'd never actually had but at least it was something to do.

He developed a routine. Walk his perimeter outside. Go through a routine that incorporated every training exercise he could remember from not only his Centurion training but his two years of boxing in high school. Sweep up the chamber. Then, once all that was done he'd spend the next few hours before the sun went down trying to entertain himself by running through TV episodes he barely remembered. Monty Python skits. Trying to imitate all the gaits from 'The Ministry of Silly Walks". Pushing his memory until he remembered absolutely every last bit of The Holy Grail AND The Life of Brian.

When the sun went down, he'd do it all again in the dark.

It wasn't easy. Sometimes the days and nights passed so slowly. The monotony and loneliness loomed like a massive wave suspended over him but ready to crush him at any time. When it seemed too much, when his resolve faltered he'd often reach out to touch the Pandorica. He'd listen for the thrum that meant Amy was still suspended inside and feel the gentle vibration. He'd think of Amy, of her laugh, the silky feel of her hair brushing his cheek when he held her close. The feeling of her would be so immediate, so real. It gave him strength to face another hour, another day, another year.

He tried to keep track of the days as they passed but he must have lost track. He must have miscounted somewhere along the way because when the real Romans showed up his count was off.

He thought it was 120 A.D. but apparently it was only 118.


	2. Chapter 2

**Here is a re-write based on a criticism received in an anonymous review and I hope it addresses the problem.**

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><p>Rory had smelled them before they arrived. It took a while, to get used to his heightened senses but after 18, sorry, 16 years it'd become old hat.<p>

He was running through his tried and true routine, making his rounds outside Stonehenge, when he'd caught a whiff of smoke on the breeze.

Maybe it was nothing though. Maybe it was a fire caused by the thunderstorm…last week. No, it couldn't possibly...

Fire.

_"Stay away from heat..." _The Doctor's voice cautioned in his head.

Fire meant people. Fire meant danger.

Rory ran to the chamber.

No making the rounds today. No sweeping up. No Monty Python.

Today Rory paced nervously, his helmet in place and sword drawn. Today he jumped at every shadow and started at every sound.

But the Romans didn't arrive that day. Or the next. Rory realized suddenly that he wasn't nervous, he was excited. He was going to speak to someone again. He was going to have a conversation with another human being.

Well, Rory wasn't human was he? How would he explain that? Would he have to explain that?

"Wish you were here." Rory sighed to Amy. "You'd call me a name and then tell me what to do. I miss that, being told what to do."

He touched the Pandorica and felt the comforting vibration, then turned back to the entrance and the unique sensation of anticipation.

It took them almost four weeks to notice Stonehenge and investigate.

And Rory was waiting.

As he watched the scout cautiously approach he felt something unexpected, excitement.

_"...however bored you get stay out of-"_ The Doctor's final words. Stay out of what? Trouble? The way of people? Water? Rory felt that now old frustration. Would it have killed the dratted alien to have resisted pressing the flashing button on his wrist for a few more seconds and just finish the sentence?

Rory realized he was scowling which wasn't usually the best way to greet the first person you'd seen in 16 years. Then again, maybe it was.

"Hail!" The clearly nervous soldier greeted him with a salute. Rory _was_ a centurion after all.

"Hail." Rory replied. His ears slightly tingling with the sensation of another's voice.

"Where is your master?" He asked the soldier.

"He approaches, my lord." His face fairly contorted with curiosity. "Where is your master, my lord?"

Rory frowned with all the scorn his implanted memories had imbued him for insubordination.

"That is not for you to question." He snapped. "Go and tell your master that I have a warning for him and for him alone."

The startled soldier hesitated until Rory roared, "Go!" and then he scurried away like a frightened rabbit.

_When did you get so bossy?_ Amy's voice asked in his head.

He knew he hadn't been a Centurion, that it was all programming but sometimes the fake memories came in handy. Rory the Roman had commanded a hundred men in many battles. Rory the Roman wasn't just used to giving orders but to having them obeyed.

In short time, the head of the cohort below personally came to investigate the lone Centurion on a frontier previously thought to be uncharted.

"Hail!" Rory saluted the man's superior rank instinctively.

"Hail, Centurion." The older man greeted him. "I am Honoratus, pilus prior of the fifth cohort of the Minerva Legion. We were sent to seek out the barbarian wilds to the North by our master in Bonna." He peered at Rory. "Whence come you, Centurion? And where is your Century?"

"They are gone." Rory answered his voice lower and more fluid as it slipped into the artificially familiar rhythms of this archaic speech. "They are as though they had never been for they angered a powerful warrior; A lord of time. I alone survive but cursed."

The Pilus Prior, senior most Centurion of the Cohort who stood camped at Rory's door raised his eyebrows, but did not look convinced.

"How long, young Centurion, have you stood here alone?" He said in a tone that reminded Rory of the way adults had spoken to Amy about her 'imaginary friend'.

"I know not." Rory answered. "What year of the reign of our mighty Emperor Trejanus Augustus is this?"

Honoratus raised his eyebrows. "Trajanas Augustus has been dead a year or more. Soon marks the second year of the great Hadrianus."

"Hadrianus?" Rory started. "Hadrianus? As in Hadrian's Wall?"

Honoratus frowned. "Though there are many walls in the Empire and all may be said to belong to the Emperor, I know of none that bears his illustrious name."

"Oh, there will be." Rory muttered.

Honoratus' frown soured into a scowl. "You have yet to explain yourself, sir. Who are you? Under whose authority are you here and where is your Century?"

"I have recounted to you the fate of my Century." Rory began.

"Yes, I recall." Honoratus cut him off, impatiently. "They angered a god."

"No," Rory said, his voice more bitter and stern than he'd intended. "A Timelord; Something much more dangerous."

"You believe this to be true." Honoratus breathed. "I see it in your eyes. Can it be so? Can you truly have had conference with a god?"

"I have." Rory answered. "16 years hence he stood and bade me as punishment for the death of a most fair maid stand watch for all time over …"

Honoratus frowned as Rory faltered. "16 years? This cannot be. You are still a young man. It would have been a boy this god commanded 16 years hence."

"I am that man." Rory insisted. "I will not age, nor die until the Timelord return. This is my charge. I will stand unaged, without food or drink or rest until the time shall come when the Timelord will return and restore the Universe. Till that time I must stand guard and watch over…" Rory faltered again.

"Over?" Honoratus asked, compassion in his eyes. "Over what, my boy?"

Rory realized Honoratus still did not believe him.

"Come." He said after a moment's hesitation. "I will show you."

Honoratus followed him into the chamber and then stumbled to a halt when the Pandorica came into view.

"What is this marvel?" Honoratus breathed. " A stone. Such a stone. How came it to be here and who carved these markings?"

"This is no stone." Rory corrected. "It is a box, the Pandorica. In it is the salvation of the Universe, of everything that has been or ever will be and even those things that now have never been but only if it is guarded." Rory cautioned. "Only if it remain sealed until the appointed time when the Timelord will return."

"This is your charge?" Honoratus breathed.

"This is my charge." Rory confirmed.

"Then the will of Heaven is the will of Rome." Honoratus declared. "The Pandorica will straightaway be taken to Rome where it will be steadfastly guarded through time until the lord of time return for it."

Rory hesitated and his hesitation did not go unnoticed.

"You doubt?" Honoratus accused. "You, a Roman Centurion, doubt the ability of Rome to protect such a thing?"

"I…" Rory struggled with how to present his thoughts. "I do not doubt the might of Rome, nor it splendor. I fear for the box, the Pandorica. I believe it will be safer here, unknown and hidden."

"How long shall you hide it from the Celts, my boy?" Honoratus warned. "How long before the barbarian hordes overrun you and break your sacred oath? No. No, the Pandorica must to Rome and under safe guard."

"The Pandorica needs no guard." Rory insisted. "It has one."

Honoratus stood and appraised Rory as though seeing him for the first time.

"What is your name?" He asked at last.

"I need no name." Rory answered, suddenly remembering Amy's comment, that his name was not at all Roman. "I am the Lone Centurion and nothing more until the Timelord relieve me of my charge."

"Well, then, Lone Centurion," Honoratus sighed. "You will accompany the Pandorica back to Rome. None shall attempt to dissuade you from your sacred duty. It is the duty of all humanity to do the will of the gods. What the Timelord wills, Rome will see done."

"My lord." Rory conceded. What else could he do?

"_Well," _he thought to himself, _"at least in Rome I'll have company."_

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><p><strong>So, what do you think? Rubbish or keep going?<strong>


	3. Chapter 3

**Thanks so much for the reviews. They're very encouraging and so I'll keep going.**

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><p>Rory was tired. Not physically, of course. He didn't seem to get physically tired any longer. But he was quite tired of the tediousness of travelling back to Rome with a group of men who, unlike Rory, constantly needed to stop to do things like eat and sleep.<p>

Back to Rome? Wait, no. Rory'd never really been to Rome had he? He shook his head trying to reconcile his two separate sets of memories. His two different lives. His head began to ache and so he did what he always did in these situations, he thought of Amy.

Rory Williams had never been to Rome, no, but he had been to Venice.

He could actually feel the features of his face soften as he thought of that first trip in the TARDIS with Amy and the Doctor. He'd tried to save her. He'd nearly died trying to save her and yet, she'd saved him.

Amy.

So strong. So beautiful.

He remembered the unexpected kiss. Why had she kissed him? Why did she love him? What had he ever done that was worthy of the love of Amy Pond?

His mind flashed to that terrible moment. Amy's tears. Her voice insisting that he was Rory Williams and he wasn't going anywhere ever again. He'd felt her love and his love for her and yet still, _STILL_ he'd…

Rory's tears fell and he reached out instinctively to the Pandorica. He leaned forward until his forehead touched the warm thrumming marvel perched on its massive cart.

"I'm so sorry." He murmured.

"Sir?"

The voice startled Rory as voices often did. Though he'd been travelling with the armored guard for several months now, he'd been alone for 16 years.

"Yes." Rory answered. "Shouldn't you be sleeping?" He didn't want a tired foot soldier holding up their progress the next day.

"Sir, the men are saying…they are saying you are the son of a god. Y-You never sleep. You never eat. You have the strength of many men…"

Rory looked more closely at the soldier. He was so young. Had Rory ever been that young?

"I am no god." Rory sighed. "Nor the son of one either. I am a soldier as you are. No more."

"But…" The boy hesitated. "But the things you can do…"

"Are no gift, boy. They are a curse." Rory finished.

"Why are you cursed?" The boy asked.

"Because…" Rory's throat caught.

"I … I killed a woman. A beautiful woman…" Rory breathed and unthinkingly reached for the Pandorica again. "She was radiant and strong and innocent and I killed her."

"Why?" The boy asked in the straightforward manner of the young.

"I was under a spell of sorts. I did not want to kill her or mean to do it. I felt such grief for what I had done even when the spell was upon me. The Timelord was satisfied that I had regained my mind but he could not make me what I was before. Now I guard the Pandorica until his return."

"What is in the Pandorica?" The boy breathed.

Rory smiled, a bit impressed with his persistence.

"An end will come for the world; a dark day when all that has ever been will face destruction. On that day, the Timelord will appear and he alone will hold the key to the Pandorica. If it is not kept safe; if it is not kept whole until the coming of that day, the world will end as though it had never been and all the days of man will be forgotten."

"And the Timelord chose you for this task." The boy said, awe in his voice as he stared at Rory's hand on the Pandorica.

Rory took his hand away, suddenly aware of the boy's awe and very uncomfortable with it.

"I told you." He bristled. "It is my punishment."

"As you will, Centurion." The boy said, then saluted and turned back to the tents and the fires.

Rory, alone again, allowed himself to touch the Pandorica and waited for the morning.

It was three days later that Rory unwillingly added to his growing reputation and legend.

Spring rains had plagued their journey and Rory had several times found it necessary to haul the Pandorica and its cart out of ruts in the muddy roads into which it had sunk. The men watched with those silent expressions of awe Rory found so annoying and he'd find himself being especially short tempered and distant after each of these unavoidable displays of his super human strength.

Three days after his conversation with the young soldier they came across a stream. At least, he was assured by his companions that under normal circumstances it was an easily traversed stream. On that day it was swollen with the spring rain, many times wider, and in places several feet deep.

As the troop struggled to urge the oxen pulling the Pandorica through, a large branch flowed unnoticed along the swift current. Before anyone could react, it struck one of the soldiers. The man lost his footing and was sucked under the cart.

Rory automatically checked the other side of the cart, wanting to be sure the man was alright when he emerged. However it soon became clear that the soldier was somehow trapped under the water. Rory sprang forward, shocked to discover he could close the distance between himself and the cart in a single massive leap.

He planted his feet, easily resisting the current and moved under the cart. His hands found the soldier's cloak, caught in the space between one of the wheels and the axle and keeping the soldier pinned under the cart. He pulled with his considerable might and easily brought the man to the surface.

As the rest of the troop stared amazed Rory carried their comrade to dry ground and laid him down.

"Is there a physician among you?" He demanded but no one answered.

Rory felt a strange stirring. He had been Rory the Roman so much recently, relying on that part of himself to communicate and anticipate customs. He could actually feel that other part, Rory the nurse coming back up to the surface like a diver coming up for air.

He examined the soldier's face and with a jolt realized it was the boy he'd been speaking to 3 nights ago. His face was cold and a pale shade of blue.

"His breath is gone." Another of the men said, his voice anguished. "He is dead."

"The Hell he is." Rory growled. He placed his fingers on the boy's neck and smiled fiercely when he felt it still faintly pulsing. He started rescue breathing.

"What are you doing?" The soldier who'd declared the boy dead demanded and moved as though to stop Rory.

"Leave me be." Rory yelled. "He is not yet dead."

"He is drowned!" Another voice insisted but Rory ignored them and continued driving air into the boy's chest, carefully keeping the airway clear and taking care not to blow too forcefully and fill his stomach.

After only five breaths the boy's eyes shot open and he sputtered. Rory rolled him on his side and held him as he coughed the water from his lungs. The boy tried to rise but Rory held him down.

"Quiet." He ordered with an old authority. "Be still, boy!"

The soldier calmed and was soon unconscious. Rory pulled him into a reclining position with his head resting against Rory's breast plate.

"Blankets!" Rory ordered. "Quickly, fetch blankets and dry clothing. He will be weak. If he is not cared for he will sicken and die."

But the men around him simply stared in shocked silence.

"NOW!" Rory screamed, his anger seemed to break through their stupor and they scrambled to fulfill his orders.

Rory informed them they would make camp that night a short distance from the stream.

"The boy will need rest." He said sternly. "Rest and warmth else the water may fester in his lungs and take his life."

The men nodded solemnly.

Rory began to turn back to the sleeping form but thought better of it.

"Wait, you." He called the young soldier who had seemed so grieved when he thought the boy dead.

"Yes, sir?" The soldier asked, his voice trembling.

"You are his friend?" Rory asked.

"Yes, sir."

"Who is he? What is his name?"

"His name is Honoratus but he is called Tertius." The soldier replied. "He is the only grandson of the noble Honoratus, Pilus Prior of the fifth cohort."

That night, for the first time since the night River Song had called him from the camp of his Auton Century, Rory found himself sitting by a fire. After all, he needed no sleep and no warmth and the Doctor had told him to stay away from heat.

"I..what?" Tertius breathed. It seemed he was finally regaining his senses and Rory found himself somehow not surprised that the first thing the boy uttered was a question.

Rory tried to make his voice gentle and soothing. "Shhhh. Don't try to speak. You're alright."

"I was dead." The boy choked out. "I couldn't free myself. I remember…I remember the water filling my lungs. I drowned!" His voice rose hysterically.

"You were not drowned." Rory assured him. "You heart was strong and had not stopped beating."

Rory struggled to explain the process in a way the boy could understand.

"You needed only for the water to leave your lungs." He said at last. "So I blew air into your body to force the water out."

Tertius' eyes were as big as saucers. "You breathed life into me?"

Rory grunted an exasperated sound and shouted. "No!"

Tertius shrank back and Rory regretted his loss of temper.

"Forgive me. But it is not magic. I did not bring you from death to life. You had not yet died. You needed only help to breath. Do you understand?"

Tertius nodded a little too vigorously and Rory sighed.

"I give up." He said more to himself than to the boy before him. "Lay still. If you have no fever in the morning you will be fit to travel and should make a full recovery…er…you should suffer no lasting ill effects."

The boy nodded again and Rory closed his eyes, suddenly more tired than at any other time he could recall since he had been guarding the Pandorica. People were so…exhausting. He wished again that he could escape into the timelessness of sleep for even an hour but wishing changed nothing.

"Get some sleep." He ordered and marched back to the Pandorica, back to Amy.

"Oh, Amy." He sighed and fought a sudden urge to cry.

"I'm not sure I'll last." He confessed. "I feel so out of place, so alone. I miss you so much."

He reached out and touched the box. His magic, stone box and tried to find comfort in the gentle, familiar vibrations. He realized the box was not his comfort. The box was merely his connection to her and to his hope. It was his hope that kept him going and gave him strength; the promise of one day being reunited with Amy.

"I can do it, Amy." He said at last. "I know I can. I can do anything for you."


	4. Chapter 4

**Sorry for the delay. I've been sick and it took a while to put this together.**

**Okay, here it goes... *crosses fingers***

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><p>When they at last arrived in Rome Rory and the Pandorica were brought before the Emperor. They offered him new clothes but Rory refused them, politely at first, then he just ignored the officious men until they went away.<p>

The Pandorica was brought into a large courtyard with extreme difficulty. There were a few places where it seemed to stubbornly refuse to budge. Several soldiers using ropes tried to pull it over an improvised ramp with little success and the finely robed man who had tried to insist Rory change his clothes called for more men.

Rory stepped forward.

"I think I can take care of it." He offered.

Fine Robes looked at Rory with disdain. "And how would you do that, _Centurion_?"

Rory shook his head. _People_

Ignoring the man he stepped up to the discarded rope. For some reason he approached the Pandorica and touched it first. Almost as if he were asking it permission to move it. He sighed wondering if this were part of going mad.

He stepped forward until the rope was taunt and pulled. To his surprise and the wonder of those around him, the Pandorica not only budged but seemed to move easily. Rory maneuvered it into place and then carefully removed the ropes, bundled them up, carried them over to Fine Robes and dropped them at his feet.

Running his fingers gently across its surface, Rory walked around the Pandorica. When he had gone over every inch of it and was satisfied it was unharmed by the journey he rested, leaning his weight on one outstretched palm. The gentle vibration filled him with a sense of peace.

"We're here, Amy." He whispered. "We're in Rome."

He suddenly became aware of the people around him. As he turned and looked at the gathered crowd, one by one they turned away, as though afraid to meet his eyes.

_Brilliant_.

He fought the urge to draw his sword and chase them off.

"The Emperor approaches!" A voice yelled from somewhere out of site.

Rory didn't think. He reacted. Just as every other soldier in hearing reacted, he stood at attention.

He wondered if the awe that settled on him came from Rory the Roman at the thought of meeting his Emperor or if it was his own personal awe at the thought of meeting the Emperor who built Hadrian's Wall. Either way, Rory found himself very nervous and not at all knowing what to expect.

The Emperor, when he approached, didn't mince his steps as the other men in robes did. He strode with the confidence of a soldier, angrily twitching the long robes out of his way.

"So," He said as he walked into the courtyard. "This is the magic stone from the barbarous North, is it?"

"Yes, yes," Fine Robes said, practically prostrating before him. "A wonder of the world."

"A wonder, is it?" The Emperor looked doubtful. "What does it do, then?"

Fine Robes stammered, at a loss.

"Well, as you can see my lord, it appears to be carved of a single massive stone with very intricate and mysterious carvings."

The Emperor's eyes glazed. "So, it's a carved rock. You brought me down here to look at a carved rock?"

"I..I..I.." Fine Robes looked as though he'd be sick.

"Get rid of it." The Emperor sighed. "I've enough dead weight to contend with."

"If it please you, Sire." Rory said, amazed at his own audacity.

The Emperor turned and looked at him as though seeing him for the first time.

"If you no longer desire the Pandorica to remain in Rome, please consent to have it returned to its resting place." He asked, his head bowed.

"And who are you to ask this of me?" Hadrian asked. "You, a mere Centurion, dare ask such a thing from your Emperor?"

Rory's hand unthinkingly reached out to the Pandorica.

"I am the keeper of the Pandorica." Rory found himself saying. "I am its guard, charged with keeping it safe until the Timelord returns."

The Emperor frowned. "The Timelord? Now this, _this_ is interesting. Who is this Timelord boy and why would he pick you to guard this stone?"

"It is not a stone." Rory insisted, for some reason angry at the dismissive way in which the Emperor regarded the Pandorica and by extension Amy. "In it is the salvation of the Universe. Time will pass until the end is near and then the Timelord will reappear and save us all but he needs what is in the Pandorica. If it is not kept safe, all hope is lost."

The Emperor raised his eyebrows. "Interesting." He commented and, taking a step forward nearly entangled himself in his robes. "Drat the things!" He yelled, clearly frustrated with his apparel. He glared at Rory.

"Do not take for granted the uniform you wear, Centurion. It is years since I wore such garb and yet I cannot forget what it was to walk _freely!"_

He tore a long bit of expensive looking fabric from his clothing until he was left wearing nothing but what looked to be a long dress and threw the extra fabric on the ground with contempt.

"My lord." Fine Robes practically wailed.

"Oh, quiet Malicus." The Emperor huffed. "I am not observed by anyone I must needs impress." He turned back to Rory. "Now, you. Someone, I can't remember who, but one of those whisperers that follow me around told me that you refuse to give your name. Is this true?"

"I need no name." Rory said firmly. "I am the guard of the Pandorica, nothing more."

"Hmph." The Emperor considered Rory and the Pandorica for a long moment.

"Well," He said at last. "I am intrigued…and also hungry. Join me for some refreshment and tell me more of this Timelord."

"I will join you to speak to you, Sire, but I do not eat."

The surprisingly energetic Emperor finally seemed to settle for a moment. "You do not eat?" He questioned, doubt clearly evident in his voice.

"No, Sire." A new voice popped up, it was Tertius. "Forgive me if I speak out of turn, Sire, but I and my companions have journeyed with the Centurion all this long way. We can attest to this fact. He neither eats, nor sleeps and he has the strength of many men. He is truly the chosen of the Timelord."

The Emperor's eyebrows went up again and he closed the distance between himself and Rory.

"Who are you?" He said, at last.

"I told you, Sire." Rory said simply. "I am the guard of the Pandorica."

The Emperor looked from Rory to the Pandorica and back again.

"Well, we shall see." The Emperor breathed. "You there!" He pointed imperiously at the soldiers who had been Rory's escort. "Bind him to the stone."

The men looked at Rory and hesitated which in turn infuriated the Emperor.

"Did you not hear me?" He demanded.

Rory looked at the men and held up his hands. "Do not fear. I will not resist you."

The Emperor seemed near apoplectic.

"You do not follow HIM!" He yelled. "You follow me! Bind him!"

Rory held his hands forward and allowed his wrists and feet to be encircled with ropes and then stood patiently as the ropes were tied to the box. He did not seem to mind or even to care. Finally, he was secured to the front of the Pandorica, his arms and legs spread wide as though the box were a windshield and he an unhappy fly.

The Emperor checked his bindings and seemed satisfied.

"Listen all of you!" He declared after his inspection. "Under pain of death, no one is to approach this man. No one is to speak to him, feed him or offer him drink."

Rory leaned his head back against the Pandorica and wondered how long he would wait for Amy like this. He knew he should be distressed but he wasn't. The vibration that only he could feel, the thing that let him know Amy was still inside waiting for him; pulsed through him and filled him with peace. He was sure he could weather this storm however long it lasted.

And as it turned out, his wait was not to be very long. Only four days later, the Emperor broke his own edict.

Rory, of course, heard him coming. He had nothing else to do, tied hand and foot as he was, and so he had spent his time using his improved hearing to eavesdrop on the comings and goings of the palace.

Hadrian hushed his steps as he approached and stopped behind one of the pillars that lined the courtyard and Rory sighed. The Emperor had made a clandestine visit to Rory's courtyard every night since ordering him bound and Rory was tired of the game.

"How fare you tonight, Sire?" Rory called to the darkness and allowed himself a smile at the Emperor's surprised gasp.

The man approached carefully, dressed in military garb.

"How did you know?" He demanded.

"I could hear you." Rory sighed. "I've had little else to do the last few days but listen."

"It's true." Hadrian sputtered. "I…I can hardly believe it but it's true. You are no man."

"No." Rory said sadly. "Not anymore."

"I didn't believe it." Hadrian said as he began pacing back and forth. "I used to believe. Before I became Emperor, I believed in the gods and in miracles. But when I ascended I knew, at least I thought I knew."

He stopped pacing and looked at Rory. "I am no god. I am still just a man but the Emperor, when I became Emperor I was to become a god because only a god can rule an Empire so vast as Rome. And yet it is all fantasy and contrivance and lies. All the men before me. I fought for Rome. I bled and watched so many die because I believed."

Rory thought back to the haunting memories of battles he never fought, the implanted nightmares he called them.

"You know." Hadrian said and Rory looked up to see that he was closely observed.

"I have memories of battle." Rory said carefully.

"It is not the battle." Hadrian said. "Battle is fear overcome by courage. A strength and fire runs through a man in battle that cannot be equaled in any other part of life. One does not feel alive so well as in battle. It is after…" His voice tapered off.

Rory's eyes filled with scenes of his Roman past. "It is not the dead. It is the unlucky survivors."

Hadrian found his eyes and nodded. "The ones who wish for death and for whom death seems to tarry at the door as though relishing their suffering."

"There is no true victor on a battlefield." Rory breathed.

"There are no glorious dead." Hadrian answered, then turned piercing eyes to Rory. "Who are you?"

"It is difficult, Sire. I do not refuse you my name for no reason. I have no Roman name. I have memories of my life before I became the guard of the Pandorica but they are not real. Nothing that I am is real anymore save perhaps the name of my other self."

Rory struggled with how to explain, frustrated. He felt a connection to the reluctant Emperor but was wary of sharing his true self with anyone.

"Say no more." Hadrian interrupted. "I have no right to judge you."

"But you are Emperor." Rory argued and to his surprise Hadrian snorted bitterly.

"My ascension was not signed by my predecessor but by his wife. She claims it was his dying wish that I succeed him but I know she lies."

"How do you know, Sire?" Rory asked.

"Because he asked me." Hadrian confessed. "He asked me to succeed him and I begged to be spared such a fate. I am no ruler of scribes and accounts. I am a soldier. I know only the command of soldiers. I begged him to leave me to my chosen path and he agreed."

Hadrian sighed. "I believe that his wife, Pompeia could not accept that and so she lied when she swore his dying words were that I be his heir. And what could I do? I could not denounce her. She would be killed."

"Perhaps," Rory considered. "Perhaps the Emperor loved you and wanted to spare you but.." He hesitated.

"But?" Hadrian encouraged.

"Perhaps he recognized as he lay dying that the man who truly understands his responsibility never truly wishes for it and the best rulers are those who do not seek to rule."

Hadrian stood silent for a long moment as he considered this.

"I have wronged you, Centurion." He said at last. "I will release you."

"Sire, your will is that I be released from my bindings?" Rory clarified.

"Yes," Hadrian confirmed. "I have no blade here but I will send someone swiftly to set you free."

"There is no need, Sire." Rory said and flexing his artificial muscles he snapped the ropes as though they were strings and removed the knots from his wrists and ankles. He was surprised that he felt no discomfort. There were no marks on his skin; no tingling or pain. For some reason, this absence of sensation dispirited him more than his confinement.

Hadrian stood amazed. "You could have freed yourself at any moment." He said at last.

"I do not care what befalls me, Sire." Rory said carefully. "I do not care where I go or what I do so long as I keep the Pandorica safe until the day of it's opening."

"Why?" Hadrian asked.

If Rory still had blood, he would have blushed.

"It is a long and complicated story, Sire." Rory began. "I think of my duty as a punishment for killing the woman I love while under a spell. By guarding the Pandorica I prove my worthiness and when the time comes and the Timelord opens the Pandorica and saves all, he will restore my love. That will be my reward."

There was a long pause while Hadrian considered this.

"So, what you are saying is you do all of this," He gestured at the Pandorica and Rory and the ropes. "All of this…for a girl?"

Rory couldn't help himself, he laughed and Hadrian joined him.

"Yeah." He chuckled. "Yes, Sire. That is basically it."

"Have no fear, Centurion." Hadrian said, clapping Rory on the shoulder. "You are yet a man."

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><p><strong>I decided this chapter was really long and split it up.<strong>


	5. Chapter 5

**Here's the last part of Rory's time in Rome. I hope you like it.**

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><p>The years rolled on. Hadrian at Rory's encouragement began to dress in his old military costume again. His hangers on were at first appalled but then created a new elaborate uniform for the Emperor. Hadrian accepted it because though it was quite a bit fancier than he'd prefer it still allowed him free motion and, as he told Rory, "It's a sight better than those dratted flowing dresses."<p>

Hadrian made regular visits to Rory, breaking his tedious and lonely vigil. Upon observing Rory's rigorous drilling he enlisted Rory's help in training his troops who were growing restless. Rory and the Pandorica were given a new home in the military barracks where Rory trained the legions and developed what he called war games; surprise 'attacks' that tested the legions' readiness and skills.

After many late and long conversations with Rory, Hadrian had instituted a new policy throughout the Empire that was not at first popular. He had withdrawn troops from areas of conquest he determined were impractical or indefensible. He ordered defensive battlements built along the Empires boarders including a wall that stretched across the entire breadth of the 'barbarous North'.

He turned the focus of the Empire inward, developing infrastructure and policies that improved the lives of all of Rome's citizens. He called this policy 'peace through strength' but confessed to Rory that it could just as easily have been 'strength through peace'.

And still the years went on.

"You truly do not age." Hadrian's voice accused but his old eyes were smiling.

"I am sorry, Sire."

Hadrian waved off the honorific. "It is late. We are alone. Would you do me the honor of calling me friend?"

Rory smiled. "Yes, friend."

"I am old, Centurion." Hadrian said. "I have now counted 62 years and have pains I cannot count. I am plagued by the thought of my successor."

Rory frowned but didn't know what to say.

"I fear for Rome." Hadrian breathed into the silence, staring at the barrack fires. "My physician has instructed me to retire for a season of rest at my villa in Baiae."

"How long will you be gone?" Rory asked and reached for the Pandorica.

"Ah, it distresses you." Hadrian smiled.

"What?" Rory asked.

"My friend, you are frozen in time I think and easy to predict." Hadrian covered Rory's hand on the Pandorica with his own. "Whenever something saddens you or distresses you, you reach for it. When word came that Honoratus was killed you would not remove your hand for an entire day."

Rory took his hand away self consciously but Hadrian kept his in place and caressed the Pandorica.

"I have often wondered what it is you feel when you touch this stone." Hadrian murmured. "Does it speak to you my friend?"

"It…" Rory for some reason felt tears gathering in his eyes and paused to suppress them.

"It hums." He said at last. "It is alive and when I touch it, it is like I feel new strength and life flow into me. It reminds me that I am not mad and that the hope I have of being myself again, of living a simple life with the woman I love lives on as well."

Hadrian's hand moved from the Pandorica to Rory's shoulder. "My dear friend, I am so sorry. I wish I could release you from this burden."

"Thank you." Rory said because he could think of nothing else to say.

"I will leave you soon."

Rory fought tears again.

"Come with me. You and the Pandorica. Come to Baiae."

Rory nodded. "It would be my honor to accompany you, Sire."

…..

And so it was that Rory found himself kneeling by the bed of his friend, a man whom Rory had watched go from vital youth to aged man.

"It comes at last." Hadrian breathed.

"No." Rory begged. "Please don't."

"I am sorry my friend." Hadrian's eyes widened. "Where has the light gone?"

"Just wait." Rory cried. "It will come for you soon."

Hadrian's eyes closed and his breathing became labored.

"You will be remembered, my friend." Rory whispered. "In centuries to come when people think of Rome they will think of you, the Roman who brought peace and prosperity to his Empire. You will be remember as an Emperor of integrity and such great honor. They will call you and the others like you The Five Good Emperors. The wall you built for peace will last for so many generations and your name will live on. Do you hear me? Hadrian?"

But there was no answer.

Hadrian was taken back to Rome in state and laid to rest. When his successor, Antoninus Pius ascended he declared there was no fit tomb in all of Rome and ordered one built. In the meantime, he bade the ashes of Hadrian be kept with the Pandorica, under the guard of the Emperor's faithful friend, the Lone Centurion.

When Hadrian's tomb was completed a year later, Rory was given the honor of placing the Emperor's ashes within.

"Good-bye, my friend." He whispered to the vast and ornate and horribly empty chamber then used his considerable strength to settle the heavy stone door into place.

Two days later Rory still stood with his hand on the Pandorica for comfort.

_Is this my life?_ He wondered. _To meet and cherish friends only to watch them age and sicken and die?_

He thought of the Doctor, surprised that the enigmatic alien had not crossed his mind in so long.

_Is this what it is like for him? _

"I can't do it, Amy." He suddenly cried, the tears he would not shed spilling out at last. "How can I do this? How does he do it?"

But there was no answer.

"HOW!" Rory screamed at the starless sky and was shocked into silence at the incredible force of his own voice which rang throughout the city like spoken thunder.

The men of the barracks were startled from their sleep by the sound and many ran to observe the Lone Centurion bend at the knee before the great stone that was his charge and weep.

…

The years rolled on and as years will do, and Rory distanced himself more and more from the people around him. Rome declined as he had known it would.

He had begged the son of Tertius, who visited him as an old man, to leave Rome for Greece. Rory hadn't been the best at history but he seemed to remember Greece being much more stable than Rome near the end.

Antoninus had followed in Hadrian's footsteps, even going so far as to construct another wall in Britain. He strove for peace but lacked Hadrian's gift for diplomacy. He had at one time sought Rory's advice but seldom acted on it, instead bending to the will of his hangers on and Rory eventually stopped speaking to him. Antoninus' meek acceptance of this was simply evidence of his weakness and of the many, many ways Antoninus would never be a match for Hadrian.

Anotininus died and was succeeded by his son's who also, eventually died and were succeeded.

Soon the wars began and there was no need for Rory's training because all the armies were gone, sent out to fight to expand borders that could not be sustained.

Rory stood his guard and watched as mighty Rome declined and wondered what would befall him now? And would he have the strength he needed to protect the Pandorica in a world without Empire? Did he really have the strength to stand by Amy's side for another thousand years and more? Did anyone?

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><p><strong>So, what's the verdict? Do you like it? Is it boring? Please, if you have the time, let me know. I appreciate it very, very much.<strong>


	6. Chapter 6

**I was going to make this chapter start with Rory encountering Merovech, the Frankish King who would have most likely raided Rome in 420 AD as established in The Big Bang timeline. However, it felt like a bit of a cop out to skip several hundred years of Rory waiting. That's the whole point of this story is that I wanted to know how Rory managed to fill the time and stay sane. So, I couldn't just have him stand by the Pandorica silently for a few hundred years. That'd be cheating. **

**I decided that Rory the Roman had spent a good long time doing Roman things with Hadrian's armies. Maybe it was time for Rory the nurse to come up to the surface and also, it was time to explain where Rory's 'door' comes from and how and why he built it.**

**Not a lot of action in this one as it deals mainly with Rory coping but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless. The next chapter is the raid though and involves lots of fighting and even an appearance of Rory's gun hand so, yay! - Oh! and I ever so slightly revised the ending of last chapter to make it sound less like Rory turned into a statue for a few hundred years. - Okay, I'm really done now.**

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><p>About 100 years after Antoninus died Rory moved the Pandorica. He didn't ask anyone's permission. He simply gathered enough rope and began hauling it away.<p>

It took some time, dragging it through the streets of Rome and, of course, his exodus did not go unnoticed. What surprised him was how the people of Rome reacted, especially when they figured out his destination.

By the time Rory was within sight of Hadrian's Tomb people were lining the streets and had begun dropping flowers in the road before him. So many flowers that perhaps the last 100 meters of his journey the road was thickly carpeted in them and he almost slipped on more than one occasion.

He maneuvered the Pandorica into place near the entrance to the tomb and then drew his sword and stood facing the now massive crowd silently. After a long pause, they began to raise their hands in a silent salute until all Rory saw stretched before him was a sea of hands. Many of the people stayed and stared at him expectantly, long into the night but he made no other move and said nothing.

He wasn't sure why he did it other than he was tired of seeing the armies limping back into camp. He was tired of watching the so called physicians patching men back together only to send them back out to be ripped to shreds again. He thought the answer was to cut himself off.

And then he found something else.

Rory knew, looking back, exactly how it got started. An older man had climbed the steps to pay tribute to Hadrian or maybe he was paying tribute to the Pandorica or Rory. People sometimes would climb the stairs to the landing before the entrance of the tomb. They'd kneel down and murmur some kind of prayer. Hadrian, like all Roman Emperors, had been deified and Rory just assumed they were praying to Hadrian. He began to question this when they incorporated touching the Pandorica before they prayed.

Sometimes they would look at him but when their eyes met his they always quickly looked away. Rory wondered what they saw when they met his eyes. Did they see his suffering? Is that what sent their eyes skittering away? Could they see his disappointment, his anger, his fear?

Rory hated the Doctor. He hated time. He hated people. He was already so tired, so tired.

Only Amy remained; she was the only thing he had left. Amy wasn't perfect but she wasn't like these large eyed, miserable things praying to him, reaching out to touch him like a living talisman.

Did they see? When they looked in his eyes did they see his greatest fear? How he feared that one day he would turn on Amy? He knew the dreadful weight of time now. He had been waiting for Amy for over 150 years and he wasn't even a tenth of the way through. He doubted himself and he feared above anything else that in this hellish torment of waiting he would lose his way because losing his love for Amy would be the end of him. He had no real memory of his life without that love. If he was being honest he knew it was the thing he liked most about himself.

Maybe Rory would have lost himself if it hadn't been for the Domitius slipping when he did.

Rory saw him starting to fall and with his Auton speed reached him in time and held him steady. The man looked afraid and so Rory let go as quickly as he could.

"It's okay." He said, accidentally speaking in English. He'd been reliving a conversation he'd had with Amy when they were fifteen. "You need not fear me." He tried again in Latin.

"I..I..no." The man stammered. "I am not afraid. I apologize, Centurion, for troubling you."

"It is no trouble." Rory insisted then noticed the man's wince. "Did I injure you?"

"No, no." The man held up a hand. "It is just that I am old and my bones pain me."

"Really," Rory asked. "In what way? Describe your pain."

The man looked at Rory very strangely but answered honestly.

"It is worst in the morning, or when the rains come. It is a deep aching."

"The pain is in your joints? Or in places where your bones have healed?" Rory asked.

The man looked surprised. "Yes. How did you know?"

"Sounds like arthritis. What are you doing to assuage your pain? What has your physician advised you?"

Rory asked, reveling in the distraction.

"He has told me to take as much rest as I may and, if possible, to make use of eels when they can be found."

Rory's eyebrows shot up. "Eels?"

"Yes, the eels infuse the water with an energy that drives out the pain though the relief is fleeting." The man said.

"Your physician has you place your arthritic joints in a vat with electric eels?" Rory asked, dumbfounded.

"Electric?" The man asked, momentarily confused.

Rory shook his head.

"First of all, your physician is wrong, dead wrong when it comes to exercise. You need to be doing the opposite. I know it will hurt, especially at first but you need to spend at least 20 to 30 minutes a day exercising those joints. Do you have a pool? ...eh..Sorry. Do you visit the bath houses?"

The old man nodded, wide eyed.

"Good, excellent." Rory said, getting excited. "I want you to visit the bath house every day. When you are in the water I want you to practice stretching your arms and legs as far as you can in all directions but stop if the pain becomes too great. Try to push yourself a bit farther every day, understand? It should help."

Rory was feeling more energetic than he had in years, perhaps decades. What else helped with arthritis? He felt that other side of him, Rory the nurse, bubbling to the surface again.

"Fish!" He exclaimed, startling the old man. "Fish oil is very good for arthritis. Um, eat more fish or, if you don't like it, you might not, loads of people don't. Ask about the oil. See if you can get some of the oil and drink a nice big spoonful twice a day, every day."

"Fish oil?" The old man asked.

Rory found himself smiling. "Yes, fish oil. A spoonful in the morning and one before you retire, understood?"

The man nodded.

"You will follow my instructions?"

"Yes, Centurion. I will do as you bid." He said reverently but Rory overlooked it. He felt fantastic.

"Excellent." He said. "Come and see me in a week and tell me how you're faring."

"I will, Centurion. Thank you, Centurion."

Rory gave the man a hearty pat on the back that almost sent him sprawling and repeatedly apologized as the man carefully picked his way down the stairs.

Rory was amazed how much better he felt after advising the old man. He was also amazed how different time felt when he was waiting a week instead of several centuries. The old man, who introduced himself as Domitius, was smiling brightly as he mounted the stairs a week later.

"I am amazed as are all of my household." He breathed. "I thank you, Centurion. It has been so many years past since I have gone so long with so little pain. My physician will be, I think, dismayed for I will no longer require his services."

Rory had a thought. "Would you do me a favor?" He asked.

"Anything!" Domitius exclaimed. "Tell me how I may repay you, Centurion."

"Would you ask your physician to come speak with me?"

Domitius looked surprised by the request but quickly nodded. "Yes, yes, of course, Centurion. I will carry him to you myself if need be."

Rory found himself doing the most amazing thing, he laughed. He was so surprised and so amazed by the unlooked for release that he almost wept.

"Centurion!" Domitius cried. "What is it? What ails you?"

Rory shook his head and, smiling, gave the eager old man a gentle pat on the shoulder.

"It is nothing." He insisted. "I am just very happy. I am happy to…to be of use."

Domitius reached out and touched Rory's face gently, saying nothing.

Finally, he smiled and patted Rory's arm. "I shall fetch my physician quickly, Centurion. You have my word, you will not wait long."

"I believe you, good Domitius." Rory called after him.

Rory began a new career. Instead of training warriors, he began training physicians. He didn't remember much of homeopathic medicine but he did remember a few things. For example that a weak aspirin-like medicine could be distilled from White Willow bark and could be used to lower fevers. He didn't know much about how to make medicines. He just grabbed them off the shelf. He had done very well in nutrition though and knew a great deal about which vitamins helped with which ailments and where to find high concentrations of those vitamins.

He tried to explain germs, immunities and vitamins but his students interpreted everything he said into their superstitious understanding of the world which led to a surprising revelation for Rory.

He was trying to explain cold germs and the importance of bell peppers, thyme and parsley, to a person suffering from a cold or virus to Pontius, Domitius' physician.

"I see." Pontius said though his expression seemed to convey anything but understanding. "The leaves feed the good spirits in the body that seek to overcome the invading demons."

Rory had already tried to explain germs and the immune system three times and finally gave up.

"That is exactly…wrong." He said in frustration. "But it doesn't matter. Just try to make sure that people who are sick, eat as much of these kinds of leaves and vegetables as possible. It doesn't matter why it works, I suppose, just feed them correctly and more of them will survive."

Rory rubbed his temple and suddenly was reminded of all the times the Doctor had explained something to Rory and Amy. How many times had Rory repeated back to him what he thought the Doctor was saying just to see a tired, frustrated expression on his face and have him say something like, "Yes, only not really at all anything like that." Rory could understand now. He could understand how some knowledge; some explanations required such a massive amount of fundamental foundation that explaining higher concepts was a moot exercise.

But Rory's basic teachings of fighting disease with diet worked and spread to most of the medical practitioners of Rome. It wasn't perfect but it was better than sending people to soak with electric eels.

Best of all, Rory felt useful and had something to get him through the days. Now the people lining up before Hadrian's Tomb and the Pandorica were there to talk to Rory and asking his advice. In the beginning people tried to jump the line. A wealthy land owner or some person in authority would push through demanding to be seen and treated first. Rory, however, ignored them completely, refusing even to speak to them to turn them away.

The only time Rory treated someone who broke through the line was in a case of dire emergency. When someone was involved in an accident, they were rushed to Hadrian's Tomb and to the Lone Centurion but Rory could not treat all of Rome alone, even though he never needed to stop to eat or sleep.

He continued to train any physician who sought his help. Rory would have the physician or would be physician stay by his side for a month or more, learning from the people Rory treated. It was not uncommon, however, for some of his students to collapse from exhaustion at first and Rory had to school himself to remind them to stop to eat, drink and sleep, activities that after more than a century were foreign concepts.

Years and decades and centuries passed but Rory knew they passed more easily. For even though he did the same things, time and again, day and night; the people were always different. That kept it fresh but, in some ways, made it harder.

Domitius died only six years after Rory met him. Remus, whom Rory met as a 7 year old boy peeking over his father Pontius' shoulder, became one of Rory's best students and lived to the age of 73. His son, Nipius also became a physician as did his son Gavius. One day, after years and years of seemingly never ending days, Gavius came to ask Rory's advice and when Rory saw his son, Indus, he was so like Remus Rory couldn't stand it. Memories of the boy and youth and man rushed through his mind; an entire life come and gone and now just a memory. He backed away from the boy as though he were a harbinger of death.

"Centurion?" Gavius asked. "What ails you?" And Rory heard Domitius' voice echo the question.

Rory looked down at the line of people waiting to be seen and saw again the man who'd been caught under a wheel, the woman with a breached birth, the boy having an asthma attack too far gone for Rory to help. All the thousands of people he had treated and all of the hundreds of people who had died. He had been keeping time at bay. He had been keeping his mind busy and pushing the death and the suffering to the edge but the levees were breached and the misery flooded in.

All of Rory's many years had been pilling higher and higher, threatening to crush him under the weight of memory alone. Humans were not designed to live such lives, he had decided. They simply didn't have the capacity to deal with the grief of friends and companions lost to the ravages of time.

Rory turned to the Pandorica. He collapsed to his knees in front of it; ripping his helmet away he pressed his forehead to the stone and cried. He was losing his mind. He was getting lost in the sheer number of lives around him.

_You have to let go of them._ Something cautioned.

_You have to let go of the past. You have to let yourself forget._

"How?" Rory choked out. "How? I don't know. How?"

_You know how. _The voice in his head said with a gentle sympathy. _You don't really want to._

And Rory realized it was true. He didn't want to forget dear, kind Domitius. He didn't want to forget Remus and how they'd teased him when his voice changed. How he'd glowed with pride when Nipius was born, rushing to show Rory the precious bundle only hours after he'd been born. He didn't want to forget how Rory had scolded him for taking the boy out into the chill morning air but how he'd secretly been so pleased to be included in his friends joy. These things were precious to him, a pleasant pain that nonetheless tormented him.

Rory knew what he had to do. He felt himself wading through the memories, back in time to where they were less dense. He found a border, the edge to a vast nothingness in his mind and slowly, he built a wall. He wanted to hate this wall and shy away from it instinctively. It was not easily built and he reinforced it with the worst and most tragic cases he had encountered in his generations of treating the sick and dying. He built his wall with the pain of mothers and babies dead in childbirth; fathers crushed beyond saving from falls and cart accidents, mothers weeping over tiny forms that had slipped away while Rory was still examining them.

When the wall was done, Rory built the door with his worst moment, Amy's death. In order to open that door he would first have to force himself to relive that moment, that pain. He took the sweet poison that was his memories; Hadrian, Honoratus, Tertius, Remus, all of them safely set aside and then he shut the door.

He opened his eyes and was surprised to find that night had fallen. He turned slowly, wondering if Gavius might still be waiting and what he might think of Rory's behavior. Rory wasn't sure himself what he had been doing. He knew he had been clearing his mind, his memories but he couldn't remember exactly why. Something had been hurting, he remembered the feeling of drowning and he'd gone somewhere to … do something. What was it? He reached out in his mind and recoiled from a horrible feeling that almost turned his plastic and empty stomach.

_Keep the door shut._ Something warned him and he decided to listen.

Rory stood and looked around him surprised. For the first time in generations there was no line leading up the stairs to Hadrian's Tomb. No one. Rory stood alone the night through and watched the city slowly stir in the morning light.

Eventually, someone seemed to take notice of him. An old woman approached him almost fearfully.

"Centurion?" She asked.

"Yes." Rory answered and was surprised to see her start at the sound of his voice.

"Where did you go?" She asked at last.

Rory frowned. "What do you mean? I have been here." And he gestured to the Pandorica.

The woman looked from Rory to the Pandorica and back. "They said that you were called by the lord of Time. Some said that you had angered him by bringing medicine to the people and that you were being punished."

"Punished?" Rory asked, surprised.

"Yes." The woman nodded. "They say you screamed and knelt as though in agony and all have seen that through the years you remained kneeling as though you had been turned to stone and your face…" She shuddered. "The first time my father brought me to see you as a girl I dreamed of it for days. It was horrible. It was as though you were living through a thousand deaths."

"When you were a girl?" Rory breathed. "How long? How long have I knelt before the Pandorica?"

The woman's eyes grew large and she took an involuntary step back. "You do not know?"

"Please," Rory rasped. "How long?"

"Centurion, you have been as stone for all of my life since the reign of Constantine the Second. It is now…" She seemed to be counting the years in her head. "…84 years hence."


	7. Chapter 7

**For some reason I thought I could catch Rory up and go through the fall of the city of Rome and THEN the Frankish raid all in the same chapter which is funny cuz I don't remember doing any mind altering drugs lately. Anyway, I only made it to immediately after the fall of the city BUT there is still a sword fight. That was certainly interesting to write and I'm hoping it came out okay and meets with everyone's approval. Thanks for continuing to read this never ending story...**

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><p>It took little time for word of the Centurion's resurrection to spread and for many days the area surrounding Hadrian's Tomb thronged with crowds.<p>

_None of these people were alive last time I stood here._ Rory thought but could not quite grasp the concept.

A part of him was reasonable and simply thought:

_Well, that's 84 years I don't have to wait._

But another part of him knew that though he could not remember it, he had been aware those 84 years. He would get flashes sometimes of pain, a sense of deep concentration, the sound of storms, and he would even sometimes hear the sound of Gavius' voice.

He learned that his friend had visited him regularly, faithful until the day he died. His great-grandson reported that Gavius never gave up hope that the Lone Centurion might be released and also that Gavius and many others often prayed to the Time Lord to release the Centurion from his apparent torment.

Rory was touched by his friend's devotion, saddened by his death and horrified at the condition in which he found the once proud city of Rome. He learned that while he was lost in his own mind, the empire of Rome had divided into two factions, the Western and Eastern Empire. He seemed to remember this from his history lessons for though his memories of his time as the Lone Centurion were largely hidden from his conscious mind, his memories of his life with Amy in Leadworth were clearer and crisper than ever.

Rome had been abandoned as the capitol city and left to its own devices. Sensing its weakness the Visigoths had attacked not once but twice. In both sieges the people suffered hunger and hardship until a ransom was scrounged together to satisfy the invaders. Thus, there was no money to spare for basic repairs and the maintenance of city services. Bridges crumbled, aqueducts failed, the people suffered.

Rory looked out at a city that was a dark and bitter shadow of its former glory and though he only had fractured glimpses of his centuries here, his heart still ached for a Rome that was and that he knew would never be again.

When the Visigoths returned the people ran to Hadrian's Tomb and begged Rory, the Lone Centurion, the only figure who still commanded any respect, to help them. Rory struggled with what to do.

"I cannot fight this army for you." Rory said at last. "But I cannot stand to see you suffer either. What fealty do the people of Rome owe an absent Emperor? What duty do you owe an Empire who has ignored your suffering and sends you no relief? I say, give the city to the Visigoths. Do not let your children suffer another moment for Rome."

The crowd only nodded at first but then their voices rose until they were chanting, "Open the Gates! Open the Gates!" again and again.

"I cannot die." He called out. "I will speak with the leader of the Visigoths. I will offer him the city in exchange for the lives of its people. Will you keep safe the Pandorica, People of Rome?"

And Rory, for the first time in centuries, stepped away from the Pandorica. As he began to walk across the bridge leading from Hadrian's Tomb the crowd stilled in sheer astonishment. Rory saw tears in the eyes of the people around him.

The crowd parted and created a way for him to pass but as they did this, their hands reached out and touched him gently. Rory could never explain to another soul what this journey was like for him. It didn't matter how many languages he learned, there were no words that could describe his connection with the people of this city.

He arrived at the gates of Rome and called out with his super human voice to the encamped army.

"Who is your leader? With whom can I treat?"

After a relatively short wait a sturdy looking soldier emerged along the line.

"I am Alaric, leader of the Visigoths." He called out. "Who are you and under what authority do you offer terms?"

Rory leapt from the wall, the height of the fall allowing him to cover a truly impressive distance. He was still several meters short of his objective but he made the impression he'd been hoping for.

"I am the Lone Centurion." He said, the volume of his voice lowered considerably but still quite firm.

"The Centurion?" Alaric replied. "But he is…" Alaric gulped, looking from Rory to Rome's outer wall and back. "I had thought he was but a story."

"I am the Lone Centurion, nonetheless. I am here on behalf of the people of this city. They are tired. They will open the gates to you and give you rule over it if their terms be met."

Alaric couldn't suppress a fierce and triumphant smile. "What are these terms, Centurion?"

"If the people surrender the city in peace they require that they be allowed to leave and live in peace. Your men will not harass or injure any citizen who chooses to leave and you will offer the protection of your governance to any citizen who may choose to stay."

Alaric only considered this for a moment. "That is acceptable. Is this the extent of your terms?"

"No." Rory answered. "There is one other. You may tear down the monuments and statues, you may do what you will with the places of power but you must not tear down the holy places and the places of the dead. These you must keep sacred."

Alaric made a show of carefully considering this but Rory could tell that he had already made up his mind.

"We are agreed." He said at last and banged his fist on his breastplate.

"We are agreed." Rory replied and held out his hand in a Roman salute.

He then turned to the gates and stepping forward called, "People of Rome! Alaric of the Visigoths agrees to your terms. Will you open the gates?"

The gates opened slowly and a crowd of slaves and citizens stood staring at the massed Visigoth army.

Rory suddenly remembered walking home from school with Amy and listening to her bemoan the fate of Rome.

"How embarrassing." She'd huffed. "The greatest city in the whole world and it doesn't even put up a real fight. Slaves opened the gates? Rubbish."

"At least that awful Alaric didn't live very long." Mels had said, as usual seeming to relish a villain's death. "He was cursed!"

"There's no such thing as curses." Amy'd insisted.

"Oh, really?" Mels had asked, her eyebrow arched skeptically. "He sacks Rome and within a month his army is demolished by a storm and _he_ dies of a fever? _Not_ a coincidence, I say."

Amy rolled her eyes. "And what or who, exactly, do you think cursed him?"

Rory had known what was coming before Mels even opened her mouth.

"Oh, I don't know. The Doctor?"

Rory now turned to look at Alaric. The doomed man was smiling, thoroughly pleased with his triumph and Rory found himself feeling sorry for him. He was tempted to warn him but he didn't have the Doctor's ability to know those set points in history.

Rory finally decided it wasn't his place. Besides, he had probably altered things just by calling on the people to surrender, right? Surely, in the original timeline they didn't just immediately open the gates to the Visigoths after so brief a siege. There had to be something else involved.

Rory suddenly realized he had been away from the Pandorica far too long. With the Visigoths poised to enter the city he was growing more and more nervous. What was he doing? It wasn't his job to act on behalf of Rome.

What made me think I had the right to speak for these people? Rory thought as he made his way back.

_Because they looked to you for help._

There it was again. That voice in his head. It sounded like Rory but…not.

Though he had grown truly anxious about the Pandorica, when Rory returned to Hadrian's Tomb the great stone box stood just as it had for centuries. Rory touched it and sighed. Rome had fallen. What now?

Alaric and his men kept true to their agreement. Many Romans chose to leave and the Visigoths let them. The soldiers tore down many statues and raided some buildings but as far as Rory could tell the damage was very limited. Only one building had been truly destroyed and from what he'd heard that was due to an accidental fire.

But the Visigoths soon became unsatisfied with their vandalism. Rory suspected it was starting to sink in that the city of Rome wasn't exactly a prize. On the sixth night of their occupation a drunken group of about a dozen men approached Hadrian's Tomb.

Rory watched them warily, hoping they would stumble along but when they started across the bridge, he knew they could only have one destination. He drew his sword and stepped forward to meet them on the bridge.

"What business have you here?" He asked, his voice stern.

"What business is it of yours what our business is?" One of them, a bearded man with a large scar across his jaw, slurred back belligerently.

Rory schooled his features into a hard mask, reaching for as much intimidation as he could muster.

"Move along." He ordered. "There is nothing for you here."

"We!" Shouted the same man. "Do not take ORDERS from ROMANS!" And his men cheered.

Rory took a step forward. "You _will _obey me. Go. Now."

"Who are you, then?" Piped another of the men.

Rory glared.

"I am the Lone Centurion; the guard who never sleeps, immortal keeper of the Pandorica, chosen by the Timelord himself, and I am the one telling you to MOVE ALONG." Rory's voice had started out low and calm but ended in a fierce growl.

The men before him seemed to hesitate for a moment but quickly recovered.

"You know what I see?" The first soldier said to his friends. "I just see another Roman Centurion. I've faced dozens of Centurions." As he said this he drew he sword and smiled. "And I killed them all."

"Walk away." Rory warned. "I do not want to fight you."

"I bet you don't." Another soldier jeered.

"Let me rephrase." Rory growled. "I do not want to kill you but I will if you do not turn away from this place. Alaric gave orders that the holy places and the places of the dead were to be kept sacred. This tomb is both. It is the resting place of the Pandorica and a place for the dead."

"Dead Emperors!" A man Rory could not see shouted. "The Romans who drove our people from their lands!"

"Yeah!" Another yelled. "The Emperors are not held safe! Tear it down! Throw their bodies in the river and spread their ashes in the streets!"

The men cheered and started to advance.

"STOP!"

The sheer volume and command of Rory's voice caused them to pause again.

"This is your last warning." Rory said carefully. "Turn and go back. Get some wine and listen to cheerful music. Leave this place in peace."

He met the eyes of the scarred man, "Please, just go."

The scarred man grinned, his only reply was a fearsome yell as he and those around him charged across the bridge toward Rory.

A beardless youth reached Rory first. His sword was of a newer design than Rory's, having the wide guard you saw so often in films. The boy couldn't have been fighting long as he swung down in a powerful but indefensible arch, had he been one of Rory's students back in his days in the military barracks Rory would have punished him severely for taking such an undisciplined approach.

Rory didn't bother trying to intercept the blade. The boy was fully committed and all Rory need do was sidestep. He should have run the boy through his unprotected chest but instead he shoved his shoulder into his unbalanced body and the boy pitch to one side out of control and fell over the railing to the river below.

Rory immediately brought his sword up to intercept a more practiced lateral slice from one soldier while dodging a powerful stab from another. The stabbing soldier pitched forward, once again the folly being over commitment to the initial blow, and Rory tripped him easily his spatial understanding of the terrain assuring him the man would pitch headfirst into the base of one of the statues that lined the bridge. Rory smashed his left gauntlet into the face of the soldier whose sword he'd intercepted and brought his sword up to deflect the downward strike of still another soldier to Rory's left and it terminated in the chest of the soldier still recovering from the gauntlet attack.

The man made a horrible sound and fell to the ground writhing. While the soldier who'd inadvertently struck down his comrade stood amazed, two other men tried to move in on Rory but the narrow bridge was littered with fallen men, making maneuvering closer to him difficult.

Scar-face pushed forward impatiently, causing the dumbfounded soldier to pitch forward and fall onto the now dead body of his companion.

This time Rory took the offensive. He feigned a straightforward stab then side stepped to the left and brought his sword down in a sweeping back handed strike that severed the scarred soldier's sword arm near the shoulder. Rory kicked the man standing next to him with enough force that he sent him back into and then over the rail of the bridge.

The next attack was too quick and Rory reacted instinctively. He caught one blade on his and slid forward along his opponent's blade, using it to protect him from a slashing attack from another. When he reached the first attacker, he pulled his sword in a sweep that rent him from his abdomen up through his chest, the blade partially decapitating him as it exited through his collar bone. Rory didn't think about it. He couldn't.

As he pulled the sword up and free he turned and brought the blade down in a sweeping arch through the shoulder and neck of the other soldier.

He turned to the remaining three men and stood waiting for their attack. But these men paused. They examined the bridge, strewn with bodies; some moaning and some already dead, and seemed to make a decision. They backed away slowly; one of them held up his hand either involuntarily fending off Rory or in surrender.

When they reached the end of the bridge, they sheathed their swords and ran.

Rory looked at the mess before him and tried to swallow away a bitter taste in his mouth. The scarred man was moaning on the ground, clutching at the stump below his shoulder and Rory ran to him.

"Be still." He barked, angry at having been forced into this situation. "I need to tie this in place or you will die, do you understand?"

The man's jaw was clenched tight in pain but he nodded his eyes large with fear.

"Good." Rory huffed. When he was satisfied with the tourniquet, he focused on the wound, looking for the artery. He located it and winced at the man's screams as he pinched it off, then looked up to see a small crowd of citizens was gathering.

"You!" He yelled, pointing to a young woman who looked about her as though wondering if he could really mean her. "Yes, you!" Rory insisted. "Come here."

She hesitated at first but was soon running down the bridge.

"Do you see this that I am holding?" Rory asked, indicating the artery pinched between his fingers.

The woman's face paled but she nodded resolutely.

"I want you to take it in your fingers and hold it closed as I am." He ordered. "It is very important that you keep it held fast, do you understand?"

"Yes, Centurion." The woman answered and her voice was steady.

Rory nodded, satisfied and let go.

"May I pluck some of your hairs?" He asked.

The woman was clearly surprised by his request but nodded her agreement and Rory pulled several of the long dark strands free.

"Good." He said as he leaned over her blood stained fingers. "You are doing well. Please keep steady." He took the hairs and twisted them about each other then he looped them under the artery and tied it off as tightly as he could. He looped and tied the substantial length of hair until he was satisfied it was secure.

"Okay," He breathed. "You may let go."

He watched carefully, but when the woman removed her fingers no new blood escaped.

Rory looked up into the man's tear streaked and agonized face.

"You may yet die." He said bluntly. "But the immediate danger is passed."

"Why?" Scar-face gasped, his breathing ragged. "Why do you save me?"

"I'm a nurse." Rory answered. The man looked confused and then he slipped into unconsciousness. It was only then that Rory realized he'd spoken in English.

The woman was still kneeling beside him, the top of her dress was splattered in blood and the skirt where she knelt was soaked in it.

"I am sorry." Rory said. "For your clothes, I mean." Clothing in 410 A.D. was not easily replaced.

"It is nothing. I am happy to be of service to you Centurion." The woman assured him.

"What is your name?" Rory asked.

"Hortensia." She answered.

"Thank you for your help, Hortensia. May I ask even more of you?"

She smiled, "The people of Rome owe you everything, Centurion. Whatever you will, you have but to ask."

"Uh, thank you." Rory said, a little embarrassed. "What I need is a small knife with a single blade but very, very sharp. I need several bowls of boiling water, clean strips of cloth, a bowl of burning coals and a needle and thread. Can you get all of that for me, please?"

"I will tell the people." Hortensia promised and had turned and fled before Rory could even thank her.

Rory propped the one armed man on his side in a recovery position and then turned to the others on the bridge. One was simply unconscious, the man who had been hit in the chest by his companion was dead and Rory was dismayed to discover the man who had pitched forward into the base of the statue was also dead. When he tried to take a moment to himself and looked out into the river, he was appalled to see that both men who had fallen into the river had apparently drowned.

"I didn't want this." He whispered. "I didn't want anyone to die."

Soon people began arriving with the items Rory needed and he performed a rough but serviceable field amputation. Rory'd never even assisted in an amputation when he had been a simple, happy nurse in Leadworth, much less done one on his own in dim light in the open air with a tanner's knife and a tailor's needle. He sterilized his makeshift utensils repeatedly as he worked but was still unsure how clean the wound would be and whether he had been wasting his time trying to save the man as he bandaged the finished work.

He looked up, about to ask for a stretcher of some kind to bring the man back to his friends when he saw Alaric standing at the end of the bridge. Apparently, Rory had been so caught up in the work before him; even the general's arrival had gone unnoticed.

Alaric smiled. "You are a strange man, Centurion." He said at last.

"I'm not a man." Rory contradicted.

"Not a man?" Alaric frowned. "You look like a man."

"Perhaps because I once was." Rory sighed, tired of the games and challenges and the bloodshed that so often accompanied them.

Alaric seemed to consider Rory's answer, then his eyes shifted to the now bare chested and bandaged man.

"Will he live?" He asked.

"I am not sure." Rory said honestly. "I have done what I can for him. His blood loss was great but not so much he cannot recover. I would feel better if I could give him …" Rory had been about to say antibiotics but realized the English word would mean nothing. "...medicines but I have none. Have him drink broth mixed with a great deal of thyme and parsley until he is stronger and then have him eat bell peppers, broccoli and spinach if you can find them. They will give him strength."

"You strike a man down and then mend him when no other could?" Alaric continued to stare at Rory as though he were a puzzle whose solution eluded him.

"I did not wish to fight!" Rory shouted, losing his temper and surprising both the general and himself. "I have seen enough death… but I must protect my charge. I must keep the Pandorica safe and these men, your men, would not be dissuaded."

Alaric now looked up the bridge to where the Pandorica was just visible.

"Centurion, I have ordered my men to keep the holy places and the places of the dead sacred and they have. But we did not choose Rome at random. Long have my people hated the Emperors of Rome. They want revenge and I am disposed to give it to them."

Rory glared. "You swore."

"I would have killed for this city and you are surprised I lied?" Alaric laughed. "I think the Timelord chose a fool to guard his stone."

Rory clenched his jaw.

"My men will have their way, Centurion." Alaric declared. "Even if you cannot die, eventually they will over power you. You say you hate death? You will kill many and in the end it will be for nothing. Or, you can take your magic stone and go. Your master did not bid you guard the Emperors of Rome, did he?"

Alaric had him and he knew it. Alaric did not know Rory had a quite literal secret weapon but Alaric had guessed correctly that Rory would not want to fight.

Rory picked up the one armed soldier easily and handed him over to Alaric.

"Very well," He said through clenched teeth. "I will take the Pandorica away tonight. Take your man and go."

Alaric grunted and to Rory's horror tossed the still unconscious man over the side of the bridge and into the river below.

"How could you do that?" Rory shouted. "WHY did you do that?"

Alaric smiled and shrugged. "What good is a one armed soldier?" He asked and turned to walk away.

"Alaric!" Rory barked, his voice like thunder and the general turned. Rory's expression was not fearsome or enraged but almost sorrowful. When he spoke, though his voice seemed soft it echoed and carried and somehow all the people heard him.

"You have proven yourself without honor, Alaric, general of the Visigoths." Rory proclaimed. "I curse you. If ever you leave Rome your armies will be struck down. They will die screaming but not you. You will die soon after your armies are brought to ruin Alaric, but not the death of a soldier for you. You will die a weakling, laid out in a bed. You will never see your home again."

Only Rory could see Alaric pale and the tell tale dip of his throat as he gulped. He quickly recovered and smiling said loudly, "Is that all, oh great Centurion?"

"That is all." Rory said and turned back to the Pandorica.

"Good." Alaric called. "Go on back to your stone. The Lone Centurion?" He sneered. "I say no more! For you are the last! Rome's last Centurion!"


	8. Chapter 8

**Quick chapter covering the ten years between the fall of Rome and the Frankish raid and I don't feel a bit guilty because I'm posting the raid simultaneously. HaHA!**

**I apologize if these chapters are a bit lackluster but I have bronchitis and I've been up for ages writing history papers on either mind numbing or soul crushing subjects. I want to point out that while I came up with the basic story arc from things I remembered from my Ancient and Medieval Civilizations and World Civilizations classes and more specific research I'm doing now, I am altering things a bit here and there to account for Rory's influence. I just want to make clear that while the broad strokes are mostly correct; this is definitely an alternate history.**

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><p>News of the Centurion's curse spread throughout Rome within hours. While it made all the Roman inhabitants a bit nervous it didn't seem to bother the Visigoths very much. After all, the world at this time was full of powerful figures. Gods and demigods abounded and each culture believed their gods were superior.<p>

Why had Rory cursed Alaric? What if he'd changed the time line so much that Alaric no longer went to sea at the same time and thus his army wasn't destroyed and he didn't catch a fever and didn't die? Timelines. Almost as good as people for sparking headaches. Come to think of it, how could Rory still have headaches when he didn't even have a brain? Stands to reason he had some kind of processor which needn't even be located in his actual head so how was he having headaches?

Then again, if he was just a super fancy futuristic 'computer who wore tennis shoes', why did he love Amy? Why did he care for anyone at all? Why after all these centuries was the biggest mystery in his existence, still his existence? It was still all just a bit fuzzy and complicated.

And why in blazes had he cursed the general?

Rory's mind flashed to the scarred man, the man he'd spent hours piecing back together as best he could and then flashed mercilessly to the moment Alaric had dumped his still breathing, still healing body into the river. Why did it bother Rory so much? The man had tried to kill him. And it'd only been a few hours he'd spent performing the surgery. What were a few hours amongst these centuries of waiting?

But Rory saw the man's face again. He'd kept looking at it as he worked on his arm, hoping that perhaps when he awoke he would be a better man. He wasn't just some non-descript soldier, he was a person. He'd been a child who'd gotten kisses from his Mummy when he fell and scraped his knee. He may have had a wife and children of his own and if he didn't he might have someday. That body Alaric carelessly cast aside represented years and years of stories; triumphs, heartaches, joy and despair.

The anger in the man's face when he'd looked at Rory's uniform. Maybe a Roman had separated him from his family when he was a boy. Maybe a man wearing a Centurion's uniform had given him that scar. Rory didn't know and now he never would.

_Stop it._

The voice in his head scolded.

"Getting a bit forward these days, aren't you?" He said aloud in English.

Great. Now he wasn't just talking to Amy in the Pandorica, he was talking to the voice in his head…out loud. Properly lock-me-in-the-Looney-Bin talking to himself.

"I am going mad." Rory thought. "It's only been a bit over 300 years and I'm already going mad. The Doctor was right."

But, hang on. Hadn't Rory just saved the Pandorica? What would the Visigoths've done to it? What would Hadrian've done to it, come to that? Wouldn't he have chucked it aside? Thinking of Hadrian, a man Rory only vaguely remembered, made him think of Hadrian's Wall in England. Most of it had been destroyed not by armies, but by farmers. Over the centuries they'd carried off the stones to use in things like roads and field walls. Would the Romans have tried to recycle the Pandorica? Would they have tried to break the massive 'stone' into little pieces?

What about when scientists came along? Would they be able to detect the vibrations? Would some kind of sonar equipment clue them in to the fact it was hollow? And, being scientists, wouldn't they do absolutely everything in their power to open it up and see what was inside?

No, he hadn't made a mistake. He was necessary. Amy did need him.

Rory sighed with relief. Grateful he'd once again won this argument. Because the only thing more unbearable than waiting all these long years was the thought that he suffered in vain. The idea that he should have left with the Doctor, that Amy didn't need him and all of this, all of this misery was for nothing.

Five weeks after Rory proclaimed his curse on Alaric, the general and a large company of men set sail for new conquests. The timelines were still intact it seemed because they met with a fierce storm at sea that wiped most of them out and Alaric did catch a fever and did die shortly thereafter.

From that point forward, the Visigoths steered well clear of Rory and the Pandorica. It was odd. For the Romans, Rory was a healer and represented wisdom, compassion and hope. For the Visigoths, he was a deadly warrior and a creature that had proven powers to control the sea and the fates of great men. For the Visigoths, Rory wasn't a benevolent friend to the people, he was a vengeful god.

Thus, as more and more Romans left the city, Rory's next few years were some of his loneliest. He had moved the Pandorica far away from Hadrian's Tomb that fateful night. He didn't consciously remember much about the men inside the mausoleum but that voice inside his head warned him that he didn't want to see the desecration of the tomb.

_You won't necessarily forget forever. _The voice whispered. _And when you remember Hadrian, you won't want to remember this._

Stupid voice. It annoyed Rory beyond saying, the fact that he didn't know what it was or where it came from and yet… it always carried this feeling of truth about it. Rory instinctively trusted it and thus far, it had always been right. One more mystery to add to the list.

Rory placed the Pandorica nearer to the outer gate with a view of the choke point at which all the many winding paths of Rome, the city of seven hills, converged into the one road that led to the main gate. From this vantage point, Rory watched the comings and goings of Rome. It was almost like a changing of the guard.

Rory felt a bit silly sometimes and when he'd get the urge, he'd pace back and forth in front of the Pandorica but imitating the many 'silly walks' from that old Monty Python skit he loved so much. He wondered if it would diminish his reputation but it only seemed to add to his strangeness, making him more alien and subsequently, more fearsome.

The days kept passing into weeks and months and years. He struggled with his solitude. The empty hours too easily filled with ruminations on his own sorry state and the temptation to allow himself to wallow in his own self-pity harder and harder to ignore. He was actually vaguely pleased when the Franks turned up.


	9. Chapter 9

**Ahhh, Woodrow Wilson is boring. Just look at him! Boring. Whereas, Rory is a BAMF and I much prefer World Civilizations to US History. Oh wow, yeah faaaaascinating. The reformist agenda and the politics leading to the institution of prohibition…that is just so amazzzzzzzzzzz**

**I was incredibly pleased with the series finale. I hope you were as well. I'd love to say my favorite parts but that would involve massive spoilers. Suffice it to say; Amy's amazing, the Doctor's … the DOCTOR, and Rory and River are both BAMFs, as usual.**

**And now we finally, FINALLY get to Merovech.**

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><p>Rory needed a new way to pass the time. The last ten years had gone by agonizingly slowly. He no longer trained soldiers or treated the sick. No one approached him in his new location, perched at the top of the staircase to a crumbling and abandoned building. Rory discovered he preferred the nights. The streets emptied, then grew dark and though he was just as alone, he didn't feel quite so much like he was deliberately being ignored.<p>

Then, one night, the streets didn't stay quite so dark. Rory thought he heard something unusual coming from the main gate. The sound of blades but that couldn't be. Who was there to attack Rome? There was no way an army could approach without word reaching the inhabitants days in advance and why would anyone attack Rome. It had no treasure or power.

But when Rory focused on the gate he saw the torches, dozens of torches making their way down that one roadway toward his perch. Amazingly, they slowed as they neared his location and then stopped.

"They're here for me." He thought but then rejected that thought. Why would anyone come to Rome for Rory?

Still, he couldn't blink away the sight of twenty, perhaps thirty men lightly armored but clearly armed gathered at the bottom of his stairs.

"Centurion." One of them said quietly.

"Who are you?" Rory answered, unable to contain his curiosity. "What are you doing here?"

"We are servants of King Merovech and we bring you a message."

"What message?" Rory asked.

"King Merovech desires to speak with you. He has bid us bring you to him."

Rory frowned, puzzled why a king would want to talk to him.

"I cannot leave my charge." Rory said. "I am the guard of the Pandorica."

"We have brought a means of taking the Pandorica as well, Centurion." The man assured him.

Rory considered it. Maybe it was a good idea, getting out of Rome. But to go where?

"Who is Merovech?" Rory asked.

"He is the king of the Salian Franks, the greatest of all the tribes." The man answered reverently.

"What does he want with me?" Rory asked.

The man shrugged as though this should be obvious. "All have heard of the legend of the Lone Centurion and how he once trained the great armies of Rome. How it was only when Rome stopped heeding the words of the Centurion that it divided and fell. How Alaric the Visigoth general who had never tasted defeat was destroyed by mere words from the mouth of the Last Centurion. King Merovech is not like these barbarians. He is a great man who sees the worth of seeking out the council of the wise."

"If he is a man of war, I do not think he would approve of my council." Rory sighed.

"How can you know if you do not accompany us, Centurion?" was the man's quick reply.

"Who are you?" Rory asked, intrigued.

"I am Fredegar." The man said and gave Rory a shallow bow.

"And what do you do, Fredegar?" Rory asked. "What is your position and charge in service to the king?"

"I am one of his councilors." Fredegar answered.

"Huh." Rory thought for a moment. It was very tempting to leave, to have something to do again. "I am sorry, Fredegar. I will not go with you. I must keep the Pandorica safe and here it is overlooked. No one seeks Rome any longer. Here it is safest, so here I will stay."

Fredegar sighed and bowed his head. "I had feared you might answer thus." He turned to the men behind him, seeming to seek the attention of a young man whose light brown hair stood out among all the dark haired men.

"See that you cause him no lasting injury." Fredegar said and light brown hair nodded and pulled out a bow.

What was it the Doctor had said? "You can't heal or repair yourself..."

Rory tensed, wondering what he could do. There was no cover except perhaps the Pandorica but there was no time to run around and behind the large box. The arrow was notched and set loose and…

Rory held it in his hand poised above his right thigh.

He stared at the arrow not quite yet able to believe what had happened. Then suddenly he was dropping it and before it had reached the ground he held another arrow in his hand. He looked up and stared at the light haired man, whose eyes were as big as saucers.

"Stop it." He said, irritated, and trying to act as though he had known all along he could catch arrows mid-flight, he snapped the arrow contemptuously.

Fredegar's mouth stood open for a good long minute then he closed his mouth and gulped slightly.

"I am sorry, Centurion." He said, and to Rory's horror he drew his sword, his men following his example. "I must bring you and the Pandorica with me. It is my duty."

"Wait!" Rory called out, inadvertently holding up his hand. "Fredegar, you don't understand. I am not a man. You cannot defeat me." He stared into the man's eyes, trying to force him to believe what he was saying. "I will kill you all."

Fredegar nodded. "Then we will die, Centurion. We are soldiers and this is our charge, bring back the Centurion and the Pandorica or die in the attempt."

Fredegar took a step forward.

"Wait!" Rory repeated, loud enough he momentarily worried about drawing out the city guard.

He looked at the men poised to fight him at the bottom of the stairs. There were enough of them that he was suppressing an instinct to charge his gun hand. His automatic reflexes would have had it out and firing by now but Rory had mastered them. He had not forgotten what that gun had done last time it appeared.

Rory wanted to keep the Pandorica safe; that was his mission. Keep Amy safe. His mind flashed vividly to that terrible day by Hadrian's Tomb and the men he had killed; the empty eyes of the beardless boy floating in the river.

Keep Amy safe. As long as Amy stayed safe, there was no reason anyone else had to die, especially not at Rory's hands.

If when Rory was taken to this King he had to kill to keep Amy safe, so be it. But for the time being, Rory saw another way and he was going to take it.

"Okay." He said. "I will return with you willingly."

Fredegar hesitated, as though he didn't quite believe what he had heard. "You will return with us?"

"Yes." Rory answered. "But Fredegar, if your King means any harm to my charge, I advise you leave quickly when we arrive."

Fredegar gulped. "I assure you, Centurion. King Merovech wishes to speak to you, nothing more."

Rory desperately hoped Fredegar was right.

Traveling to Merovech's kingdom was odd. Rory knew that many of his memories had been put away, like boxes in a shed at the back of the garden. Yet, as they made their way down the now ancient Roman roads, Rory's mind would occasionally flash to images of his journey to Rome, when the roads were still fairly new. He saw a face, a smiling young man. What was his name? Rory reached for it and pulled back as the pain of the wall and the door drove him back. It was as though he had crossed some invisible line in his head like a dog with a shock collar; this far and no farther.

At one point they came to a stretch of road that, to Rory's horror, was lined with crosses. In some cases the crosses remained intact but many had fallen apart.

"What is this?" Rory breathed.

"Traitors of some sort." Fredegar answered from his mount. That had been a huge advantage this journey had over the last, the Pandorica was pulled my horses, not cattle and everyone in the party was mounted. Their pace was fairly brisk and they could cover over twenty miles in a single day.

"Traitors?" Rory asked.

Fredegar shrugged. "Traitors, slaves, deserters, no one really knows. Or, I supposed I should say, no one really remembers. The Romans did it ages ago."

Rory fought the urge to shudder, "So many."

Fredegar turned to Rory and seemed to finally notice how deeply the long stretch of ancient crosses affected him.

"You puzzle me, Centurion." Fredegar declared. "Legend says that you are a might warrior. They say you defeated fifty men in the battle for Hadrian's Tomb. Yet, you would not fight my men."

"Battle for…? _Fifty_ men?" Rory almost laughed. "What else do they say?"

"They say that after the battle you revived the men you had slain and Alaric struck them down," Fredegar replied earnestly. "He put all of the men to the sword as abominations and you were greatly displeased. So you cursed, Alaric and his army. And when he died, his men would not return his bones to his home. Rather, they buried him under moving water and killed the captives who dug his grave so that none would ever find him again and the curse would be lifted from what remained of his army."

"Really?" Rory wondered if the bit about Alaric's funeral arrangements was true or more exaggeration.

"You seem surprised, Centurion." Fredegar questioned.

"I am surprised," Rory couldn't suppress a smile. "because most of it is not true. I fought on the bridge but only a dozen men. And I did not revive the dead; I merely tended to the wounded."

"And the curse?" Fredegar asked.

Rory's face darkened. "Yes, I did curse him." He thought about trying to explain that he had not caused the events to happen but only used foreknowledge to predict them but decided that either way he would be admitting to supernatural like powers. Where he was going, he might need people to remain afraid of his ability to bring entire armies to ruin.

Rory was pleased with the deference that was given to the Pandorica. It had been treated very carefully; especially considering its transfer from its perch to the wagon took place in the dead of night where speed and stealth were the highest priority.

The men who accompanied him treated him with deference as well. They initially offered him food and drink and had brought a tent for him but he declined to make use of any of their offerings. He spent his nights standing by the Pandorica, occasionally leaping atop it and staring at the starless sky thinking of Amy and trying to remember the constellations.

They moved so quickly, Rory was a little surprised when Fredegar's men were approached by a rider.

"You have brought him!" The man exclaimed.

"Yes," Fredegar huffed. "That was my mission was it not?"

"Well," The man gulped. "Yes, but…the last Centurion."

"Ride ahead and tell the king we approach." Fredegar ordered, dismissively.

"Yes, Lord Fredegar." The messenger replied and, taking a long last look at Rory, he rode away.

Rory's party was escorted through the city, which looked quite a bit different from the Roman cities to which Rory had grown accustomed. The men brought Rory and the cart carrying the Pandorica into the courtyard of a castle surrounded by thick, steep walls. They were met by what looked like a delegation and Rory was offered new clothes. He declined, politely and had the oddest feeling of de ja vu.

It was indicated that Rory would come into the building with this entourage and he refused.

"But…"The officious man faltered. "…the king awaits within."

"I will not leave the Pandorica." Rory stated simply.

The man puffed. "Who do you think you are? Do you expect King Merovech to wait on your pleasure?"

"I do not expect the King to do anything." Rory answered. "I have come here at his request because doing so does not interfere with my duty to the Timelord but leaving the Pandorica here, unguarded is a dereliction of my duty. I will stay here."

"But…" The man began but Rory interrupted him.

"I. Will. Stay. Here." He said, slowly enunciating each word and then with a single, super human leap, he took up a position on the top of the Pandorica and tried to look as intimidating as possible. Part of him still worried about this king's intentions.

Merovech, it seemed, had already been on his way as he arrived at just that moment, Fredegar by his side.

"Ragnachar!" The king reproved the bureaucrat. "I am told you are being rude to our guest."

The man turned a shade of green.

"I did not mean to offend, sire." He protested. "He was refusing to enter the fortress. I merely-"

"I do not care what your intensions were." The King cut him off. "You will apologize."

"My apologies, Centurion." Ragnachar said, bowing to Rory. "I ask your forgiveness."

Rory felt a bit uncomfortable about the whole thing.

"Not to worry." He said, leaping lightly from the Pandorica. "I am not offended. I just could not leave the Pandorica."

"I would not ask it of you." Merovech said, his eyes moving from Rory to the stone box. "Remarkable." He breathed.

He strode forward and then stopped short. "May I touch it?" He asked.

"Uh, what?" Rory asked, surprised by the request then hurriedly added. "Yes, yes, of course."

Merovech caressed the stone, running his fingers gently across the circular pattern etched in its side.

"Does it truly contain the salvation of the Universe?" He asked when he finally turned back to Rory.

"Yes," Rory answered. "But only the Timelord has the power to use what is within. It must be kept safe until his return."

"Do you know the hour of his return?" Merovech asked.

"Yes." Rory answered simply.

"When?"

Rory thought about it for a bit, trying to figure the math.

"About one thousand five hundred years hence." Rory answered at last.

Merovech's eyebrows shot up. "And you will remain alive until that time?"

Rory said nothing and simply nodded, the weight of the time remaining to him pressing on his spirit.

"Amazing." A young man several paces behind Merovech breathed. "To have such a length to your life! Think what you can accomplish in so great a time!"

"I do not live." Rory said darkly. "I wait."

The young man frowned. "Yet, still you live and you know that you will live for such a time. You know the number of your days and they are many. Is that not a gift?"

"A gift?" Rory exploded. "To stand on guard for centuries, held fast to a stone so massive it can scarce be moved? To stand unaged as all around you grow old and weak, and die? To stand and watch as Empires once thought invincible crumble into shadows of their former glory? To live as a shadow of a man, unable to eat, or drink or sleep? To count each second of the day as it passes only to be replaced by another and another and to know those days stretch out before you to the edge of your very reason?"

The young man gulped and took a step back and some part of Rory was saying to be still but feelings within him he barely dared touch upon were stirred and would not be still.

"This is a gift?" He cried. "I pray that heaven be merciful and bestow no such blessing on you. I pray you never kneel in agony, crushed by the weight of your own memory. I pray you never know the hopelessness that is a life so long, the history of the world blurs into nothing but a litany of the dead. A gift? It is a curse. A punishment!"

Rory walked back to the Pandorica and screamed to the heavens.

"I died for you! She died because of you! Why did you have to take her away? Why did you have to land in _her_ garden? **WHY!**" And Rory's voice cracked like thunder, echoing over the fields.

He breathed deeply, suddenly aware that he was on the verge of tears.

"Amy" he whispered, reaching out to the Pandorica, glad that only he could hear the longing in his voice. "I'm so sorry."

He bowed his head and counted his breaths, ashamed that he had indulged in his petty feelings of self-pity and anger.

When he finally trusted himself to step back and away from the Pandorica he knew that all eyes would be on him. The young man who had spoken flinched when Rory met his eyes and backing away from Rory in fear he began to stammer an apology but Rory held up a hand.

"It is I who beg your forgiveness." Rory said.

"I am ashamed." Rory said to Merovech. "I … I have been alone too long, I fear. For perhaps ten years I have had no company but my own and I regret that my heart has despaired. This boy, to his misfortune, brought to mind all my feelings of anger and sorrow. I know that my punishment is not more than I deserve but I have begun to fear that it is more than I can bear."

Merovech nodded and Rory was shocked to see tears in the man's eyes.

"Centurion, I have brought you here because I had hoped you could council me. I, also, abhor war and yet I have known nothing but war all my life. We are a great tribe in the midst of many. We work to make our villages and cities happy and prosperous and our neighbors, observing us, attack and raid. There is no peace nor has there been since Rome fell."

"Why do you need me?" Rory asked.

"I grew to suspect and am now convicted that there will be no peace without Empire. Until all the tribes are united under one leader and government, they will continue to bicker and murder and destroy each other. The Centurion, the only man left alive who saw the greatness of Rome and the man who trained the great armies of Rome, he I thought could help me achieve this goal."

Rory frowned. "You wish me to train your men to kill? I fear you are too late. I lost my stomach for war centuries ago."

"You misunderstand me." Merovech said stepping forward earnestly. "I do not wish you to train armies to conquer. I wish you to train my men to defend our land and teach my lords the best ways to avoid battle while keeping the people safe. I wish to create as great a haven of peace as is within our power to create. I wish you to stand as a symbol of that peace and strength in the hopes that other tribes will choose to join us. Surely an Empire born of peace will never turn and destroy itself as Rome has done."

Rory felt a memory stir, slipping through the miniscule cracks of his wall.

"Strength through peace." He said at last. "And peace through strength. I…I remember something... someone saying this."

"What say you, Centurion?" Merovech asked. "Will you aid me?"

He held out his hand to Rory and Rory, only momentarily surprised by the gesture, placed his hand in Merovech's and nodded.

"I will do whatever I can to help you, as long as peace remains your goal."

Merovech grinned and held Rory's hand aloft while all around them cheered.


	10. Chapter 10

**I apologize that I haven't posted anything in a week. I've been writing but had to turn in a paper worth 30% of my grade in one class and take an exam worth 25% of my grade in another. **

**I hope posting two chapters at the same time (and the next one is pretty long) will in some way make up for taking that long to update. Thanks so much to everyone who have been writing reviews. I really appreciate it.**

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><p>"No!" Rory shouted. "You're still dropping your shoulder."<p>

He lowered his gladius and approached the small boy, repositioning his arm.

"You must keep your shoulder up. Why must you keep your shoulder up, Clovis?"

"Because," The boy said in an almost sing song voice. "..your arm cannot take the force or the weight but the strength in your back is very great."

"Am I boring you, young Prince?" Rory snapped.

"Oh, dear." A jolly voice said from the edge of the large sand covered courtyard in which the Frankish boy and the Roman Centurion were sparring. "Your teacher does not sound please, my son. I predict a great deal of running in your future."

The ten-year-old's face lit up and he ran forward shouting, "Father!"

King Childeric stepped forward and embraced his son, swinging him through the air while the boy laughed.

"I missed you, Father." The boy said almost reprovingly when Childeric put him down.

"I missed you as well." He answered and then turned to Rory.

"Centurion, I bear good news. The negotiations have concluded and all parties are agreed. One more tribe has joined our union."

"That's brilliant!" Rory cried and clapped Childeric on the shoulder warmly. "Congratulations, Childeric. What you and your father have accomplished is amazing."

"Only with your help." Childeric said. "Speaking of your help…how goes Clovis' training?"

Rory made a show of thinking carefully and frowning darkly.

"As bad as all that?" Childeric said in mock despair.

"No!" Clovis protested. "It's not true, Father. I am doing well! I am a good student! The Centurion said so only this morning. Tell him!"

Rory couldn't hold his stern expression and burst out laughing.

"I am sorry, young Clovis. Yes, of course, you have done very well." He turned to Childeric. "He is a very good student. His technique is extremely good for his age. He is also doing very well at his logic exercises, maths and reading."

"Hmmm." Childeric made a show of considering this information. "Well, such a good student as this should probably accompany the king on a visit to formally welcome our new neighbors. Wouldn't you agree, Centurion?"

"Yeah, I think that might be just the thing for a good student." Rory said with a grin. "There hasn't been a new tribe coming into the Empire in his lifetime."

"Exactly my thought."

"Truly? I may come with you?" Clovis asked, literally dancing from one foot to the other in his excitement.

Rory watched as Childeric embraced and lifted his son and both, laughing joyously, wished him well and left the courtyard to deliver the news to the queen and begin preparations for the journey.

He reached for the Pandorica. How many times had Rory thought of what life would be like after he and Amy were reunited? He had imagined a million different scenarios and in almost all of them at some point children made an appearance. He had imagined countless small versions of Amy and even tried to imagine what Amy's son might look like. He hoped that their child would have a measure of sensitivity and strength equal to Clovis'. He was a good kid.

His father, Childeric had been a good kid as well.

"It comes nearer, Centurion." A voice said, startling Rory.

"I beg your pardon." Merovech said. "I had not thought it possible to startle you."

Rory laughed self-consciously. "I fear I was in my own world."

Merovech looked at Rory's hand on the Pandorica.

"I see." He said. "Have I thanked you, Centurion, for all you have done for my people?"

Rory grinned. "You thank me too often, Merovech, and it is undeserved. This was your dream and no man has worked harder to achieve it than you."

"Yet, these last few tribes are so set in their ways." Merovech sighed. "I fear I will not see the tribes united."

Rory frowned. Merovech was older than most lived in this age, thanks in no small part to his following Rory's food and hygiene instructions. Yet, he still aged and though Rory hated to think of it he knew that soon his friend would leave him.

_And then one day I will be forced to forget him._ Rory thought sadly.

He had grown to understand the people in his past who meant something to him. When people mentioned Hadrian, which they still did on rare occasions, Rory would feel something stir. It was as though his mind had forgotten something but his soul remembered. The memories, the thoughts were gone but the feelings remained. One day in the future perhaps someone would mention Merovech, the king who had started the unification of the Frankish tribes and Rory would feel a stirring in his soul and wonder why.

He blinked furiously as tears threatened to fill his eyes but Merovech noticed.

"Ahhh, you will miss me?" The old king laughed. "That is a great honor indeed and you, my friend, are a comfort. It is a great comfort to know that you will remain and watch over my Childeric, dear little Clovis and the baby."

"I think it's a girl." Rory said. "You can never be sure but in the past, or, huh…I guess it's the future. Sorry, I tripped myself up there. Doesn't matter. At one time they discovered that in the majority of cases a fetus with a certain heart rate was more likely to be female than male. I can hear the baby's heart, it's a good one by the way, and the rhythm indicates it will most likely be a girl."

"Hmmm, pity." Merovech sighed.

"Pity?" Rory balked. "Girls are wonderful."

"A girl cannot lead if her brother should fall." Merovech said sternly.

Rory opened his mouth and then, just as quickly, shut it again. He'd hashed out women's rights issues with Merovech countless times before. He was a good man but still very much a product of his environment. Rory was hoping he had made better headway with Clovis. He exchanged a few more pleasantries with his friend but they both understood that the conversation had effectively ended.

A week later, the royal party came to the courtyard that had been built to house the Pandorica, a place they aptly called the Courtyard of the Waiting, and bid Rory farewell. Clovis could barely contain his excitement and ran back to wave good-bye three times after the party left, each time a bit more tired and Rory suspected one of Childeric's clever strategies at work. He imagined Clovis would be decidedly less of a handful after exhausting himself saying good-bye.

The queen came occasionally to the courtyard to visit Rory. It had been decided that, due to her pregnancy, it would be more prudent for her to remain in the safety and comfort of the palace. Rory would check her vitals and ask about her pregnancy. But it wasn't the same as having lessons with Clovis. Rory's nights were long enough, filling days as well was becoming more and more difficult.

Most people seemed to avoid his courtyard though Rory wasn't sure why.

Three months after the royal party had departed a bedraggled company made its way back carrying a terrible burden. Childeric was dead.

It took some time for someone to bring the full story to Rory but he eventually learned that during the third night of their celebrations a raiding party from Syagrius attacked the city. Childeric had gone out to protect the city and fallen.

Clovis, Rory was told, was so set on joining his father in battle that Childeric had been forced to lock the boy in a trunk and in the confusion after the battle he had been forgotten for almost 24 hours.

The theory was that Syagrius had attacked at the celebration before Childeric's men could put in place the defenses that were so successful in all the other tribal strongholds. Merovech spent weeks calming the fury of the people and staving off a retaliatory invasion force.

He finally called all the people that had been gathering in the capitol city to the Courtyard of the Waiting to address the issue. Rory and the Pandorica were powerful symbols of both strength and peace, Merovech reminded Rory apologetically.

"You have no need to apologize." Rory said. "I am happy to do anything I can to preserve the peace Childeric died to create."

The people responded well to the address and instead of sending men armed with swords out to fight Syagrius, they sent men armed with equipment to rebuild the sacked city and to quickly install defenses in the city and along the borders of the new tribe.

Rory had begun to think that perhaps the plan could still work and peace could last. Then a week later, for the first time since returning to the city beside his father's body, Clovis visited Rory's courtyard.

"I wondered when you would return to your lessons." Rory said softly.

"I have not come for lessons." Clovis said and Rory was surprised how different the boy's voice was.

"I am so, so sorry about your father, Clovis." Rory offered.

"I wanted to help. I could have helped him. He wouldn't let me." Clovis said, his voice breaking.

"Clovis," Rory said. "What happened to your father wasn't your fault."

"I know." Clovis said and Rory sighed with relief.

"It wasn't my fault," Clovis continued. "it was your fault. It was you and grandfather and all your talk of peace."

"Clovis.." Rory began, appalled.

"Be still!" The boy yelled, tears running down his cheeks. "I'm through listening to you! If father had just destroyed those barbarians, he would be alive. You did this! I never want to see you again!"

"Clovis.." Rory tried again but the boy had run away.

Rory bowed his head and reached out to the Pandorica. Was Clovis right? Had he put Childeric in danger by trying to teach him peace in such a brutal age? But, no, the idea of an empire of peace, a mutual alliance was not Rory's but Merovech's and an ideal Childeric had believed in with all his heart.

He looked to the corner around which Clovis had disappeared and wondered if he could ever convince Clovis of the merit of his family's dream again.


	11. Chapter 11

**Because these two characters were by far the most fleshed out in my mind, I decided to tell this part of the story from their POV. I also thought it would be interesting to step out of Rory's head and see more how he appears to outsiders.**

**I hope you like it.**

**P.S. There are spoilers for the Disney film Tangled in this chapter. **

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><p>"What happened next, Centurion?" Audofleda asked when he paused a bit too long.<p>

The Centurion smiled, "But you know, Fleda. I've told you this story since you were a little girl."

"I know." Fleda blushed. "I just get so excited. It's so wonderful how Rapunzel was willing to live in misery for her love."

"Yes, but Flynn wouldn't have it." The Centurion said, his voice returning to the grave tone he always used when he told this part of the story. "As Rapunzel leaned forward to give him the farewell kiss he had begged of her, Flynn used a shard of the broken mirror to cut all of her lovely, crimson hair: Putting an end to its magic and setting her free."

Fleda felt familiar tears come to her eyes. It was so silly but every time she heard the story, heard how two people would sacrifice everything because of their love for each other, she couldn't help but cry.

"The evil witch screamed as all her years caught up to her and writhing in agony she leapt from the tall tower but all that reached the ground were bits of dust. Rapunzel cried over her Flynn and begged him not to die. She tried to revive him with the magic of her hair but the power was gone. Rapunzel started to realize that she would have to live the rest of her life alone, without the one she loved so much."

Fleda loved the way the Centurion's voice always grew so sad when he told this part of the story, as though he were feeling Rapunzel's pain.

"Rapunzel laid her head on the chest of her love and sang her song to him as she cried. But!" And the Centurion's eyes filled with wonder and hope. "When all hope seamed lost, her tears shimmered and shone with the magic of the flower. Flynn's wounds glowed, then closed and he opened his eyes; alive and well!"

Fleda felt like laughing.

"The Princess Rapunzel was reunited with her parents who welcomed and loved Flynn as well, finally giving him the thing he never knew he always wanted; a family. And they lived happily ever after."

Fleda sighed. "It's such a wonderful story."

The Centurion laughed. "I don't doubt you think so, you have me tell it often enough. I'm starting to suspect I should never have told it to you all those years ago."

Fleda thought back to the first time the Centurion had told her the story. She had been very ill. Her mother had been frantic and brought her to the Centurion begging him to heal her. Her grandfather Merovech, the king of all the great Frankish tribes had come as well. The Centurion had asked for things like foods and herbs. They set up a tent and a bed for her in the great courtyard dedicated to the Centurion and the Pandorica.

She had been afraid of him at first but he sat with her all day and all night, helping her eat the odd foods he insisted she eat and drink the nasty draughts he prepared. Sometimes, when the pain and pressure in her chest felt so awful that she started to cry and choke he would hum to her or sing and then he started to tell her stories. How she had loved his stories. She'd get so interested in the characters that she would forget all about how terrible she felt and how afraid she was.

All too soon, Fleda was healed and sent back into the palace. When she asked if she could go visit the Centurion her mother had rebuked her. After all, Fleda was only a girl. The Centurion was not only a man but an immortal demigod. She was ordered not to bother him and make herself more a nuisance than she already was. It was amazing how quickly her mother went back to scolding her once Fleda had regained her health.

Fleda, however, quite deserving of scolding truth be told, snuck out of the palace. She knew the Centurion would be awake, after all. He had known she was coming from such a long way off but he hadn't been angry with her for coming. They started meeting every night and he would tell her so many wonderful stories. Stories like the one about the enchanted ring and the quest to defeat the evil warlock who forged it or the story about the princess and the man in black who turned out to be her long lost love and rescued her from the evil prince. Fleda loved those stories and all the others but she never loved anything quite as much as that first story about Rapunzel and her true love Flynn and how they rescued each other.

Fleda was 16 now and far too old for stories. Her mother never tired of telling her how she had already married Fleda's father when she was 16 and had bourn him a strong heir, Clovis.

Clovis was amazing. Clovis was the generation that would finally unite that last of the tribes into the next great Empire. Clovis was such a great swordsman. Did you hear the Centurion mention how intelligent Clovis was? Clovis was perfect.

Fleda was ten years younger than her brother and felt that her mother would never allow her to forget how perfect he was. Fleda had been born three months after her father died. Fleda's mother had been inconsolable when the news was brought back to her and they said it was due to her grief that Fleda had come early. The midwife had been afraid and taken her to the Centurion. Some believed he was merely a skillful healer but most believed he had a supernatural power to bless. Whatever the reason, he was able to bring Fleda into the world safely and gave instructions for how to care for her.

Fleda once reminded him that his was the first face she had ever seen. He had laughed.

"Yes," He nodded. "I suppose I never thought of it like that. And, of course," He had rubbed his jaw ruefully, "my face never changes."

"Why does that make you so sad?" She had asked but he had simply ruffled her hair and dismissed her concern.

Fleda often felt that there was something she was missing in their conversations. The Centurion was the most open and honest person she knew but there were things about him that just didn't make sense. Most people, especially older people, found themselves uncomfortable around him. Fleda wondered if it was because he didn't grow old. They knew that long after they were dead, he'd still be there. He'd still be standing by the Pandorica looking exactly the same as he did right now. They would come and go and not matter even in his eyes, so how much less in the eyes of the universe?

Fleda gave herself a little shake. That was depressing.

"Are you cold?" The Centurion asked.

"No." Fleda answered, "It's quite warm out, actually."

"Oh," The Centurion said. "I can't really feel the warmth or the cold anymore. I remember, at least, I think I remember…"

His voice trailed off.

"What?" Fleda prompted. "What do you remember?"

"I remember being cold." He continued. "I was with… I was with the Timelord and someone else and we were trapped by the dream lord."

"There is a dream lord?" Fleda asked.

"No." The Centurion seemed almost to wake up from a trance. "No, I mean, yes there was but it turned out he wasn't really there. He was just part of the Timelord."

"What happened?"

"Well, he – the dream lord, that is – he said he was testing us. We had to choose between one world and another. Both were dangerous but only one was real and he said it had something to do with … with my friend choosing between the Timelord and, well, me. One of the worlds, it was cold," he shuddered "so cold. We were dying from it." He paused.

"And?" Fleda asked, completely enthralled by this new story.

"And I died." He said simply. "I died saving her and then, then she chose me." The Centurion smiled as though he still couldn't believe it. "She could have had the Timelord or me and she chose me." But something was wrong, Fleda realized. The Centurion's face became a mask of pain. "She chose me and impossibly she…she remembered me and I…I killed her."

Fleda had heard tales of this. There were so many stories about The Last Centurion. Some of them were about The Lone Centurion and one of them said that he was cursed for killing a demigoddess, the daughter of the Timelord.

As the story went the queen of Olympus Juno, who hated all demigods, had seen how happy the daughter of the Timelord had been with the Centurion. So, she had cast a spell on him and under the influence of the spell he had killed his love.

The Timelord arrived moments later, sent for by Juno, and seeing his daughter dead he had vowed revenge on the Centurion, on Juno, on the whole Universe. In his fury he had set in motion the destruction of all things save the only thing that never ends, time itself.

They say there had been small shining lights then, like precious jewels in the sky, each with its own name and spirit and the Timelord had destroyed them all. When he had turned to kill the Centurion, the Centurion had welcomed death, hoping to be reunited with his love in the Underworld. Upon seeing this, the Timelord's heart had been softened. He then created the Pandorica.

He and Juno agreed that if the Centurion could prove the faithfulness of men by guarding the Pandorica for 2,000 years, the Timelord would relent and prevent the Universe from being destroyed and Juno would likewise relent and restore the young demigoddess from the Underworld.

Fleda wasn't sure how the story the Centurion had just told fit into that tale. The way the Centurion was talking it didn't sound like the demigoddess was the daughter of the Timelord. But, perhaps that was a trial in which she had to choose between the godly and the human realms. The Timelord had made her choose and she had chosen to be with the Centurion. She had chosen him over so much and he had been forced to betray her. Fleda's heart broke for him.

"It's okay." Fleda said, the only thing she could think of to say. "It'll be alright. Shhhh. It's okay."

"Yes," The Centurion said, the familiar resolve settling back across his features. "Yes, it is because she is kept safe as long as I keep the Pandorica safe and at the end of time when the Timelord renews the universe I will get her back. I will have Amy back and I will be able to tell her how sorry I am."

Fleda nodded and gave his shoulder a reassuring pat, still having no idea what to say to him.

"You know what frightens me, Fleda?" The Centurion whispered and Fleda couldn't believe he was confiding so in her. She shook her head, no.

"What if she doesn't forgive me?" He breathed.

"She will." Fleda said with conviction. "You're the Last Centurion. You're the bravest, wisest, most amazing person I know. How could she not forgive you? If she doesn't forgive you and love you for the rest of her life she's just stupid."

"Thank you, Fleda." The Centurion sighed. "You'd better run off to bed though. It's getting late. I'm sorry for…well, for burdening you with my own miserable past."

"It's no problem." She rushed to say. "You're my friend. You're my dearest friend. I'm glad I could offer you some comfort."

For some reason the Centurion laughed which hurt Fleda but then he reached out and gave her the most wonderful hug and she forgot all about that little hurt.

"Ah, Fleda." He said, and as he stepped away from the hug he tapped her nose. "You are the sweetest girl I have met in the last four centuries."

For some reason Fleda wanted to cry. Rather than let him see her tears, she simply curtsied, mumbled a thank you and turned back to the palace.

"Out late again, sister?" Clovis was walking across the courtyard with his arms crossed, a smug expression on his face.

"Sire." She acknowledged him formally.

He smirked. "No need for formality little sister. It seems there is no need for propriety either. You think nothing of sneaking out to meet a man in the dead of night, shall you not then address me as a brother?"

"He is hardly a man." She said sternly. "And you are barely my brother."

"I'm not sure how I feel about that 'hardly a man' bit." The Centurion said.

Fleda frowned at him. "You know what I mean."

The Centurion smiled disarmingly. "Just trying to ease the tension."

Clovis smiled but the smile made Fleda shudder. "Nevertheless, it does not do for the King's sister to be seen sneaking out of the palace at such a time. Your visits to the Courtyard of the Waiting must cease."

Fleda caught her breath and willed herself to meet his dark stare.

"Immediately." Clovis added and the tone of his voice left no hope for appeal.

"Hold on," The Centurion said, frowning. "There's nothing to fear from me."

"Yes, I know." Clovis' voice held a shade of contempt. "All know that the Centurion has never taken a woman."

"What?" The Centurion's incredulity was downright comical. "Aw, that's not what they're saying is it? I have… 'taken a woman'." He finished, clearly uncomfortable. "I just, don't. Now. Because of what I am. Now. I wasn't always this way but it's just now I don't eat or sleep or, you know, … desire."

Fleda had never seen the Centurion so uncomfortable before.

"Brother, I have visited the Centurion for years on end. Why must I stop my visits now?" She asked, trying to divert attention away from the discomfort Clovis seemed to relish.

"Because you were not then engaged to be wed." Clovis declared.

"Engaged?" Fleda's heart sank.

"Yes," Clovis said happily. "I have secured a marriage for you dear sister. You will be the queen of the Ostrogoths."

"Theodoric?" Fleda felt tears spring to her eyes.

"Why do you cry?" Clovis asked. "This is happy news. He has asked for your hand, sister. You will be queen."

"He…he's so old." She tried to keep her voice from wailing.

"Not so much older than I." Clovis argued. "And think of this, he was a hostage as a boy in Constantinople. He is no barbarian king but noble and refined. You will be well looked after."

Fleda sniffed and trying to hold back her tears, nodded.

Her brother was clearly annoyed. "Look, Fleda…no, you are soon to be married. I must now call you by your proper name. Audofleda, this is a great honor to you and to our kingdom. All the other kings and lordlings have merely been offered Theodoric's female relatives, while you, you have been offered his hand. That is a great honor, indeed and a much stronger bond between our houses."

"I understand." Fleda gasped, still trying not to cry. "Please, Sire. Allow me to retire and c-compose myself."

Clovis sighed. "Very well." And Fleda ran from the courtyard. "But see that these tears are absent when Theodoric arrives!" She heard him yell as she turned the corner.

* * *

><p>Clovis turned to The Centurion and was displeased to see he also appeared upset by the news.<p>

"Why all these sad faces?" Clovis complained. "You would think I had ordered my dear sister's execution."

"Clovis, it is a sort of execution." The Centurion said. "You have taken her life from her and given it to a man she has not even met; a man with a fearsome reputation."

"You certainly cannot fault me." Clovis rebuked. "This is peaceful alliance. I thought you above all would be pleased. You still disapprove of my plans to secure the empire."

"You seek to attack the last independent tribes and force them into submission though they have made no move against you since your father's death. Of course I appose you."

The Centurion challenged him. Clovis liked that, sometimes. But not this time, not on this subject, not again.

"I will no longer explain myself to you." Then he laughed. "Why should I? I am king! I am high ruler over all the civilized Frankish tribes and what are you? A Centurion from a ruined city and a collapsed empire guarding a stone."

"In war it is the innocent who suffer most, Clovis." The Centurion went on, ignoring Clovis' insults. "They have done you no violence and simply wish to be left in peace."

"No violence?" Clovis scoffed and then cursed, angry at being sucked into the tired argument. "Enough!" He shouted. "No more. The course of my mind is set. We must look to the future. Theodoric allies with us and we have agreed that the northern territory cannot remain as it stands."

The Centurion's expression turned dark, making Clovis suspect he knew the answer to the question he voiced, "And what is your intention?"

"They must be brought in line, of course." Clovis tried to say this casually. It was difficult for him because, try as he might, he could not forget that it was The Centurion who had taught him his lessons, had taught him to fight and it was the Centurion who had offered him comfort when his father had been murdered. The thought of his father steeled his resolve and he met The Centurion's ancient gaze.

"Clovis, please." The Centurion begged. "I know your father's death has hurt you but please, do not cast aside all he tried to build in a desire to avenge him."

"They murdered him." Clovis spit. "They butchered my father. They refuse to join us and would rather live as savages in the wild. They must be brought under control. If I do not subdue them, Theodoric will."

"You will never convince all of the tribes to attack." The Centurion sighed. "How long have you sought their aid? Your father and grandfather won them over to their great empire with the promise of peace. They will not join you."

"They will when they see you standing beside me." Clovis smiled. "We will visit each of their strongholds one by one and their people will see them submit to me and see that I have the great Last Centurion by my side. And then I will take them all here and let them behold our might."

"You want to take the Pandorica all that long way?" The Centurion asked, incredulous.

Clovis snorted. "The Pandorica? Why would I take the Pandorica? You are the symbol. You are the one they will respect. The Pandorica is a great big stone nobody cares about." He sneered. "Except, perhaps, you."

"I will not leave the Pandorica, Clovis." The Centurion insisted, his voice reminded Clovis of his childhood days learning his lessons at the Centurion's feet.

_But I am no longer a child._ Clovis thought and set his jaw.

"You will, Centurion." He said firmly.

He expected the Centurion to match his hostility but instead he took a step back.

"Clovis," He said and smiled sadly. "What has happened to you? You know I cannot leave the Pandorica. I won't. Please, as your old friend and teacher I ask you, please don't try to make me leave my charge. I will have to refuse you."

Clovis started to feel unsure, he hated that feeling and no one could make him doubt himself more than the Centurion.

"I told you." He insisted. "If I don't bring them in line, Theodoric will."

"Don't you see? That could be your chance." The Centurion said excitedly. "If you go to them, warn them, they may finally be convinced to join your alliance. You could finally fulfill the dream of your father and grandfather; an empire built on peace and cooperation not war."

Clovis struggled. Part of him knew the Centurion was right, that he could most likely use the very real threat of Theodoric to finally win over the last three tribes. Then his mind flashed to that day, that terrible day when his father had been taken from him. All his talk of peace, all of his 'reaching out a hand in friendship' talk but he had died in a pool of blood and Clovis…he had been hidden away in a closet. While his father was butchered, Clovis had been locked in a cupboard. Maybe if his father hadn't been so obsessed with peace he'd have wiped out those mongrels before they'd killed him.

"You are right." Clovis said and saw the Centurion smile. "If I present this as a mission to warn the errant tribes, the elders will unite and stand with me. We will, of course, need to take a substantial force with us into the barbarous territory and if they should attack, we will defend ourselves and have no choice but to bring them into the alliance."

The Centurion hesitated and Clovis suspected he saw through to his true intent. "If they submit you would have no need to destroy them. But that is not what you hope is it? You hope they resist, don't you?" The Centurion asked with those infuriatingly piercing eyes. "You want them to resist because you don't want to have to welcome them. You WANT to destroy them. You want revenge."

"They killed my father." Clovis' voice came out harsh and static. He was almost overcome with rage as the image of his father's bloody and mutilated corpse flashed through his mind.

"Clovis, I can't imagine how you feel.."

"No, you can't." Clovis interrupted. "Don't feed me the poison you fed my father. You made him weak. You told him peace was the answer but your peace led him to his grave."

The Centurion took a step back and his features moved quickly, flashing through different emotions so fast they were difficult to read.

"You blame yourself. You blame your father. You blame the tribes. You blame me." He said slowly. "You want revenge, Clovis. I understand. I know what it is like to feel like your life has been stolen from you and yet blame yourself."

"You know nothing!" Clovis screamed. He found himself advancing on the Centurion. He wanted to hit him, crush him.

The Centurion backed away again with his hands up in a sign of surrender.

"I know Clovis!" He cried. "You feel responsible for your father's death? I killed the woman I loved! I betrayed someone I had died to protect. Can you understand that? I died. I took a blow that was meant for him and it killed me. Then I awoke, alive again. Brought to life only so I could betray the one for whom I had died and kill the one I loved."

Clovis' mind reeled, trying to grasp what the Centurion was telling him. The Centurion had died?

"You were dead?" He found himself asking.

"Yes."

"What was it like?" Clovis asked, his eyes watering. "Were you happy? Was it painful?"

The Centurion seemed to struggle for a minute.

"Dying was painful." He admitted honestly. "Death was a relief."

"Were you afraid?" Clovis breathed.

"I was sorry." The Centurion answered. "I didn't want to…to leave Amy. I loved her"

"But you died anyway." Clovis growled. "You left this…this Amy. You died and left her behind."

"Yes."

"Why?" Clovis cried. "Why did you leave?"

"I had no choice."

"Yes, you did. You could have let this other person die. You chose to take his place. My father chose to accept people who didn't deserve to be accepted. His way, your way of peace led to his death. You are right I blame him and I blame you but most of all I blame them. The tribes who attacked a man of peace. They will suffer."

"Clovis, I cannot stop you but I will not help you."

Clovis fought tears but smiled. "Yes, you will. Because if you do not, I will destroy the Pandorica."

The Centurion winced. He stepped back and his hand touched the great stone.

"No."

"You will support me or the Pandorica will be destroyed." Clovis said.

"Do not do this, Clovis." The Centurion said softly. "Do not make me defend it. I don't want to kill anyone."

"Then join me."

"I cannot leave the Pandorica." The Centurion frowned in concentration. "You know that and you know I will not condone the death of innocents."

"Brother!" A voice rang out in the stillness of the darkness of early morning.

Clovis looked up to see Fleda standing on the edge of one of the parapets.

"Sister, what are you doing?" He asked though he dreaded her answer.

"I am important now." His little sister called down in a loud ringing voice. "I am the peace offering. What will you say to your precious Theodoric if he learns that I died rather than wed him?"

Clovis swallowed, not sure what was going on. He realized that Fleda had actual leverage. He had already promised Fleda's hand. He would not easily explain her suicide without offending Theodoric and Theodoric was not someone Clovis wanted to offend.

"What do you want, Fleda?" He asked warily.

To his surprise, she laughed.

* * *

><p>Fleda looked down from the parapet at the dimly lit courtyard below. Clovis was so small, so far away, so powerless. She laughed again and then gasped as she almost lost her footing.<p>

"Fleda!" Clovis and the Centurion called in unison.

Clovis glared at the Centurion and then called, "What do you think you are doing? What is it that you want?"

Fleda stopped smiling.

"I want you to let the Centurion leave."

Clovis frowned. "I need him."

"No you don't." Fleda yelled. "You can carry out your plans without him and we all know it. You want him there to punish him because you blame him for our father's death."

"You don't get to speak of our father!" Clovis screamed, enraged. "You didn't even know him!"

"And you think that is a blessing?" She screamed back, amazed at her own audacity but then, what could he do she reasoned, kill her?

"Fleda, please." The Centurion's tone was soft and yet his voice still reached her easily. "Come down, please."

"No." Fleda said softly, knowing he would still hear her. "I would rather die than see Clovis wreak his sick revenge against you. You've done nothing wrong. You are my friend and you have saved my life twice. It is my honor to save you."

Clovis, who could not hear her, called out. "Fleda, come down! I order you to come down. I am king!"

"And I am the queen of the Ostrogoths!" Fleda screamed back. "Or I very soon will be. I order _**you**_, Clovis! I order you to give the Centurion a cart and allow him to leave with the Pandorica. I am sorry. I am sorry that father died and I am sorry that his death twisted you so but you cannot interfere in the Centurion's sacred duty. Let him go.." She grabbed the arm of carving on the parapet and leaned out over the courtyard. "..or I will let go."

Clovis seethed and paced for a few moments, then he stormed from the courtyard.

"Fleda, he's gone." The Centurion called desperately. "I believe he means to do what you ask. Please, step back, please!"

Fleda found herself smiling. "I rather like this."

"You like dangling over a courtyard?" He asked.

"No, I like being powerful." She corrected. "For the first time in my life, I am in control. Isn't that sad?" Suddenly she was crying. "The only thing in my life that I control is whether I take it."

"Fleda, I'm so, so sorry." The Centurion said. "There will come a time when women will be free to decide their own destinies. They will have professions and responsibilities and adventures."

"Will they chose their own husbands?" Fleda said, smiling through her tears.

"Yes." The Centurion smiled back at her. "Yes, they will."

"Ah, Centurion." She sighed. "That is the most fantastic fairy tale you've ever told."

"It's true, Fleda." He insisted. "I swear, it is true."

"But too far away." She cried. "This is my freedom."

"Fleda, please be careful!" The Centurion called.

"I love you." She found herself saying, suddenly. "You are the first face I saw. You made me well when I was ill. You told me stories that gave me hope and joy. I love my father because of what I know of him and what I know of him I learned from you. You are as near a father as I have ever had."

"Fleda." The Centurion said. "Dear little Fleda, I love you, too."

"This is touching." Clovis said, his voice scathing. He had returned to the courtyard leading a group of men. "Bring it up!" He shouted at them and they brought forward a large cart pulled by two oxen.

"I don't need the cattle." The Centurion said sadly. "It will be easier for me without them."

Clovis gestured and men began removing the oxen from their yokes.

The Centurion lashed ropes around the Pandorica and then in a feat of strength that took Fleda's breath away he tipped it forward onto his back, straightened his knees and transferred it to the cart bed whose joints all creaked loudly as though testifying the weight of the great stone.

"Go." Clovis said sternly. "Fleda is right. I don't need you. I never did."

The Centurion's face was a mask of regret and sorrow. "Clovis I am so, so sorry. I am sorry for your loss and for what you have become. I hope that one day you will let go of your bitterness and anger and let joy back into your life."

"Enough!" Clovis shouted and turned to Fleda. "Well played, sister. You are truly my kin. Now, come down and prepare to meet your betrothed. He arrives tomorrow." And the young king stormed from the courtyard.

"Good bye!" Fleda called down.

"Fleda, dear little Audofleda, be happy. Please be happy." The Centurion said, his voice cracking. "Thank you. Thank you for protecting me."

"We were like Rapunzel and Flynn." She laughed through her tears. "We saved each other!"

The Centurion smiled at her and bowed in a way she had never seen.

"I will miss you." Fleda's voice didn't crack, it broke and she couldn't stop the tears. "I will miss you so much. Don't forget me. Please don't forget me."

The Centurion looked up and as he shook his head Fleda could see the shimmer of tears shaken free. "I will forget lords, kings and empires before I forget you, little Fleda." And then he turned and began to leave the courtyard he had called home for so many decades.

Fleda called as he approached the city gates. "I will be happy, Centurion. When you remember me, please remember me happy."

He turned and looking back for the last time he raised his hand in a Roman salute to her. She stepped down from the edge of the parapet but stayed watching until he disappeared over the horizon.

"Good-bye." She whispered and taking a deep breath turned to face the great adventure of her life.

* * *

><p><strong>End of experimental POV thing. I'm not really going to have another character important enough to try this until the 1800's so if you didn't like it, don't worry. =) Thanks for reading! I will try to post the next chapter much faster than these two were posted. <strong>


	12. Chapter 12

**Thanks again to everyone who takes the time to post reviews, especially after that last chapter. Writing those other characters made me nervous and it's good to know that didn't blow up. I now know that if I use it again in a few centuries it should be okay. So, here's some transitional stuff. Rory making his way and finding a new place to settle. I hope you continue to enjoy the story. Thank you so much for reviewing.**

* * *

><p>Rory covered ground very quickly at first. He was able to travel both day and night and not waiting while others set up camp, ate and slept was a great advantage. But then word spread that the Centurion was leaving Frankish lands and a new impediment arose.<p>

As he passed through sleepy towns and villages the people would come out. In some cases they simply watched but in most cases they addressed him. They asked him to tend to a wounded or sick person. Some would beg him not to leave. One elderly woman in particular broke Rory's heart. She had lost her entire family as a girl before the tribes had united in peace. She got down on her knees in the road and clung to Rory's clothing crying and begging him not to forsake their land. Rory had knelt down and held her until she had calmed.

"I did not bring the peace." He had murmured to her when she was finally still. "This wonderful peace is of your making. As long as the Franks value peace and seek peace, you will have it. No single person can destroy what you make together."

Her eyes for some reason reminded him of that woman so long ago in Rome; the one who had spoken to him first when he had awoken from his long trance.

"Why?" The woman asked. "Why do you leave us?"

Rory couldn't tell her the whole truth. He simply said, "Because I must."

By this time a young man, the woman's grandson Rory thought judging from his features, had arrived and half carrying her frail body, led her away.

It was after that experience that Rory decided he would travel through populated areas only at night. In an age where artificial light was dim and expensive, very few people remained awake in the darkness of starless nights.

Rory walked west, leading the Pandorica, until he reached the ocean. He hadn't clearly thought about where he was going until he saw the ocean, and then suddenly he knew. He was going home.

He walked South parallel with the shore, still giving populated areas a wide berth until he reached a city with a decent sized port. He made quite a stir pulling the Pandorica through the streets to the peacefully docked ships. When he reached a square near the port he stopped, leapt atop the Pandorica and called out:

"I, the Lone and Last Centurion seek aid. The Pandorica must be returned to the land across the channel. If any shipmaster would help me, he would have my deepest gratitude and would do me a great service."

The modest crowd that had gathered and followed him through the streets watched him a while longer but he said nothing more and they eventually dispersed. It was less than an hour after his announcement that a shipmaster, Adrian, approached him and offered him passage.

"I have no currency to offer you." Rory said, truly sad that he couldn't repay the man's generosity.

"It is my honor, Centurion." Adrian insisted and Rory let the matter rest. He was suddenly very anxious to leave.

Rather than try to maneuver the Pandorica into the ship's hold, they contented themselves with lashing it to the deck. Rory actually preferred it. The crisp sea breezes seemed to bathe him and wash at least some part of his melancholy away. There was plenty to do on deck and all hands seemed to delight in teaching him the arts and practices of sailing which helped the time pass quickly.

He realized that he wanted nothing so much as to put the ocean between him and the rest of Europe. He started to wish he had never allowed the Pandorica to leave Stonehenge but then he thought of Fleda or Merovech of the strange echo of love and friendships that remained even absent of his conscious memory and he couldn't wish those memories and feelings away…not yet.

When they made land Rory found himself suddenly able to understand the impulse to kiss the ground. He could feel that he was back, back home in England. Tears sprang to his eyes when the foggy island first appeared on the horizon and with his hand resting on the Pandorica he had whispered, "We're home, Amy. I brought you home."

When both the Pandorica and its cart were safely on land Rory turned to Adrian.

"Is there nothing I can do to repay you?" He asked.

Adrian smiled. "I believe you earned your passage through the help you gave me and my men. Were that not enough, the honor of having been able to render you a service would be too generous a payment. I will tell this tale to my grandchildren." The rough sailor laughed and added. "My grandchildren will tell this tale to their grandchildren."

Rory smiled and then frowned pensively. "Well," He said, "if the tale is to be told for such a long time. It stands to reason that you will need some sort of proof."

And, for the first time since that terrible day over 400 years before, Rory opened his right hand and exposed the laser inside.

Adrian made a strangled noise in his throat and backed away but Rory pointed his hand at the ship's bow. With deft precision he carved the laurel, crossed swords and initials SPQR deep enough into the wood to make an indelible impression but shallow enough to not compromise the ship's sea worthiness.

He stepped back, snapped his hand shut and examined his work. He was comforted and pleased by the act of transforming the weapon of destruction into a tool of creation. Adrian, meanwhile, had overcome his initial shock and fear and leapt from the ship to better appreciate Rory's handiwork.

"It is wonderful." He breathed. "What are these symbols?"

"They are vestiges of my past." Rory said. "Symbols of the legion and of Rome." He pointed to the letters. "Senatus Populusque Romanus." He read and then translated. "The Senate and People of Rome."

"In all the tales I have heard of you, Centurion, I never heard you could wield fire."

Rory frowned. "I was given this power by the ones who sought to overthrow the Timelord. The last time I wielded it, it was to kill the woman I love. That is why through all these years I have not used it."

"Why now?" Adrian asked.

"Because I am home." Rory shrugged. "Because I am changed. Perhaps because I wanted to use it to do something good, something purely good."

Rory turned and took a step away from Adrian toward the harnesses of the cart but then stopped. He turned back and pulled the gladius from its sheath and presented the hilt to Adrian.

"Please accept this as payment for my passage." He said with a soft smile but Adrian backed away.

"It is too much." He said, holding up his hands as though to push the gift away. "I cannot accept it."

"Please," Rory begged. "I do not want it. In truth, I am sick of the sight of it. Please, Adrian, take it and place it on a shelf. Let it collect dust instead of lives."

Adrian hesitated a moment more but finally took a step forward and accepted the sword.

"I will treasure this, Centurion." He said reverently. "It shall be an heirloom of my family as long as my line survives."

Rory grinned. "At least until eBay."

"Which Bay?" The sailor asked.

"No matter." Rory chuckled. "Thank you, Adrian. Thank you so much for returning me to my home."

"But..."Adrian frowned. "You are the Last Centurion. How is this your home and not Rome?"

Rory took a deep breath and released it slowly before answering. "Rome is the home of the Last Centurion. This is _**my**_ home. The place of my true self."

"I do not understand." Adrian admitted.

"You do not need to. You need only understand that I have been lost for a very long time and you have helped me find my way." Rory gripped Adrian's shoulder warmly. "You are a good man, Adrian. You have not only given me safe passage home but you have let me see that the world is still full of happiness, generosity and good men. Thank you."

For some reason Adrian's eyes grew damp and he reached out and grasped Rory's shoulder.

"Centurion, I.." He seemed to struggle with what to say.

"I will think of you." He said finally. "I will pray that one day you will not be so weary. That this sadness you carry will be lifted and you will not be so…so very alone."

Rory felt his own eyes stinging.

"Again I find myself in your debt, Adrian." Rory smiled. "I wish you a long and happy life."

He turned back to the cart and began the next leg of his journey.

Though he was tempted, Rory did not look back.


	13. Chapter 13

**Hello. I have to apologize for not posting a new chapter in over a week. Unfortunately, I had two exams and a paper due. I have another two exams this week but did manage to write this. I hope you like it and will continue to be patient with me this week. I cannot wait to have this behind me and more time to write this story. I did warn readers in the first chapter that this would take a long time. It's a marathon, not a sprint, lol. Thanks again for all your patience and for providing encouraging feedback.**

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><p>Moving the Pandorica was a bit more complicated than Rory had expected. It still amazed him that England was so much less developed at this point in history than Europe, whose countryside was already crossed by many paths and roads lined with open fields. England had roads but thick forests and brush lined stretches several kilometers long. If Rory were travelling alone, this would not be an issue but he was pulling a large cart with a great heavy box tied to it.<p>

Rory had to stick to the roads, which meant contact with people was unavoidable. He was further surprised to find that these people seemed to be at least vaguely familiar with him. Though the official Roman presence had ceased in 410, the same year the city of Rome had fallen, many of the inhabitants still had a background in Roman culture and history and were familiar with stories of the Lone Centurion.

Still others had descended or at least had dealings with the Frankish tribes or the Visigoths and were familiar with stories of the Last Centurion.

To avoid as many encounters as possible, Rory returned to his habit of travelling only by night. However, even this proved difficult as in many cases the tree line was flush against the road and he could not move away from the thoroughfare at all, much less far enough away that other travelers could fail to see him.

Thus, it was not surprising to him when after only two weeks he was met by an armed 'delegation'.

The leader stepped forward and bowed respectfully to Rory.

"Greetings to you, famed warrior." The man said saluting. And while Rory was annoyed by the honorific and the salute he was glad all the time he had spent in the Courtyard of the Waiting learning as many languages as he could was paying off.

"Greetings." Rory answered, hoping his accent was correct.

"We represent his august majesty, King Icel of Mercia. The King wishes you well and begs the honor of your company in his stronghold." The man bowed again.

Rory paused a moment before replying carefully, "I thank his Majesty for the honor and I thank you for your time but I must decline." And Rory bowed to the man, who frowned.

"I am afraid my master insists, Centurion." He said darkly.

"And I am afraid that I am quite through being drawn into the affairs of kings." Rory replied. "You may go now."

With that he began pulling the Pandorica forward until he stood before the confused men.

"Excuse me." He said politely. "Would you please move? You are in my way."

"Centurion" The man began again but Rory was tired. His hand darted forward and struck the man a sharp blow that rendered him instantly unconscious. He caught him easily in his arms and placed him on the side of the road.

A man in the group before him let an arrow fly and Rory plucked it effortlessly from the air though he needn't have bothered as the shot had gone wide. However, the feat had the effect of impressing and frightening the men before him.

"I will not go with you." Rory informed them. "You may take your leader and go. If you attempt to force me to go with you, I cannot ensure that all of you will survive. The choice is yours."

The men hesitated a moment more and then two of them carefully pulled up the unconscious leader and, draping his arms over their shoulders, stood to one side of the road. The others in the group likewise stood to one side and, to Rory's great relief, let him and the Pandorica pass.

When out of sight, Rory picked up his pace and spent the next two days and nights putting as much distance between himself and Mercia as he could manage. Rory headed north and the roads seemed to also pull him in a generally western direction as well.

What he needed was a place out of sight; A place to rest and hide.

After his encounter with King Icel's men he traveled about a week without encountering another human being. On the eighth day this peaceful reprieve was brought to an abrupt end by a terrified scream.

Rory's head jerked up and he rushed forward on the road in the direction of the scream. As he rounded a bend in the road he came across a terrible scene. A girl, she couldn't be older than 18, was being held by two men while a third pulled at her clothing. Rory's stomach turned and his vision took on a red tinge. He dropped the cart's harness and leapt forward landing within feet of the group of would be rapists.

The men paused, startled by Rory's sudden appearance.

"Wh-who?" The man who had been tearing at the girls bodice began but Rory struck him.

He did not hold back. In his rage he used his full strength and the man flew through the air the few feet to the tree line. He slammed against the trunk of a tree with a sickening crunch and fell to the ground, clearly dead.

The two remaining assailants stared at their companion while the girl stared at Rory. The desperate hope in her tearful eyes refueled Rory's rage and he grabbed the man who had twisted one arm behind her back.

As Rory held the man by the throat his companion dropped the girls other arm and ran. Rory's jaw was clenched in rage, the muscles pulled so tight it was painful.

The man in his grasp was unabashedly terrified. Tears streamed from his eyes and he choked out, "Mercy. P-please. Mercy!"

Rory glanced at the girl who had backed against the nearest tree trunk and was hugging her knees to her chest, shivering and sobbing.

Rory looked back to the man and said grimly, "No." and snapped the his neck like a twig.

He knelt down and met the girl's eye. "Stay here." He said, his voice as soft and reassuring as he could make it. "I have to go after the last one but I want to make sure you're alright. If you know you are not hurt and want to leave, you may but I would really like to make sure you're alright. Will you wait for me?"

She hesitated a moment and Rory smiled sadly. The girl seemed to almost pull some invisible cloak or blanket around her shoulders. Her back and shoulders straightened and, looking Rory directly in the eye, she nodded firmly.

Rory smiled again and nodded back. Then he stood, turned in the direction the man had fled and leapt forward.

He caught up to the man easily and quickly and when he did the man fell to the ground and began to sob.

"Mercy, my lord. Mercy. Please forgive me! Please, please don't kill me!"

Rory grabbed the man by his collar and said, "I am not the one from whom you need beg forgiveness."

He hauled the man back to where the girl and the bodies of his companions waited and then threw him roughly to the ground at her feet.

"Here is the one you have injured." Rory said. "Beg her pardon."

The man glanced fearfully from Rory to the girl several times still shaking violently and crying.

He prostrated himself before the girl, "Please. I am sorry. I am so sorry. I beg you, please don't let him kill me. I am sorry. I swear I am a changed man. Please! Please, have mercy."

The girl looked at him and stood, holding her torn blouse together tightly.

"You took no mercy on me." The girl said at last and the man's face crumpled in on itself in despair.

Rory took a step forward but the girl held up her hand.

"Stand up." She ordered the man groveling at her feet.

"Look at me." She said when he had climbed shakily to his feet, his eyes darting constantly to Rory's grim face.

"Look at me!" The girl yelled and the man finally gave her his undivided attention.

"You took no mercy on me." She said again. "If I spare you will you change your ways?"

"I will, mistress. I swear it. I will be a changed man from this day forward."

"Will you show the mercy you were shown?"

"I will! I swear on my life!"

"Then I will let you go." She said shocking Rory. This young girl, her clothes filthy and tattered seemed to glow with regal dignity.

"Thank you, mistress." The man was saying as he backed away. "Thank you. I will be a changed man, mistress. I will. Thank you. Thank you."

After he had turned and fled the girl sat down abruptly and Rory rushed forward but stopped when she recoiled.

He held up his hands placatingly. "I won't hurt you. Are you injured?"

"I think not." She said shaking her head. "I fear I am overcome."

Rory smiled and blurted. "You were brilliant!"

She smiled faintly and looked down the road. "Thank you, sir. You…Are you the Last Centurion?"

Rory followed her line of sight and saw the Pandorica sitting on it's cart.

"Yes." He answered. "And who are you? What brings you to be here so late and alone?"

Her eyes dropped and she mumbled so softly Rory couldn't understand her and had to ask her to repeat it.

"I fear I am a fugitive." She confessed. "I have left my lawful husband and run away."

"Oh." Rory said, surprised. "I'm sorry."

She looked up surprised. "You are sorry?"

"Well, yes. You have to run away from your husband and then you meet these rough men. It's awful."

"You-you do not think me wicked?" She asked, amazed.

"I am of a different school of thought when it comes to marriage." Rory said carefully. "I do not think a woman should be bound to a man against her will. I think a man should beg permission from the woman and not her guardian. I think the decision to wed a man should be the woman's alone and if she finds that she dislikes him, she should have the right to end her marriage with him."

To his surprise the girl laughed and said, "Why then who would ever wed?"

Rory frowned sadly. "Are you alright?"

"I am not injured." She said and held out her hand which Rory took. He helped her to her feet and asked, "Where will you go?"

"I had thought I would go north to the White House beyond the Wall." She replied.

"The where behind the what?" Rory asked.

"The White House in the mountain wilds behind Hadrian's Wall." The girl said, smiling for the first time. "'Tis a place for men and women of God where a woman can live a simple life devoted to good works and prayer." Her eyes lit. "I have heard that women who devote themselves to the holy life are even given to study and taught to read the holy scriptures."

"Wait, hold on. Full stop." Rory sputtered. "You're running away to a nunnery?"

The girl frowned. "I do not understand. What is a nunnery? I am going to a house of God."

"A nunnery." Rory said. "I didn't even know they had monastic houses this early. It's only what? The sixth century?"

"Well, I only know of the White House in the north but I have heard that there are many such religious houses among the Irish."

Rory struck his forehead. "St. Patrick!" He exclaimed. "Of course, this is his time, isn't it?"

The girl was looking at him strangely. "I do not understand."

"Nevermind, doesn't matter. It's just this is the time that Christianity really takes hold in Britain. Wow. This is so … strange. I mean, I've seen all this history so far but it's all been so, I don't know, distant. It's had nothing to do with me, not proper me but this; this is St. Patrick's Day. This is the beginning of all the monasteries and Cathedral's and, and I know this. I know these stories."

"Are you well, Centurion?" The girl asked, frowning. "Your words are strange and meaningless."

Rory laughed. "Yes, I'm sure they are. I'm sorry, what are you called?"

"Elwyna." She answered.

"Elwyna," Rory repeated. "Friend of the elves?"

"That is its meaning in the old tongue." She said, "How did you know?"

Rory smiled a bit sadly. "I'm an old man."

"Oh, yes." Elwyna said. She blushed and fell silent.

After a long pause she said, "I thank you, Centurion, for saving me. I will take my leave and wish you God speed on your journey."

"Hold on." Rory said. "You can't walk all the way to Scotland on your own."

"Scotland?" She frowned.

"The North." He clarified. "You can't walk all that way by yourself or you'll just end up in trouble again. I'll go with you."

Elwyna shook her head. "Oh no, I could not ask you to go so far out of your way."

"Elwyna, it's no bother. I have no place I need to be. I simply sought a place to rest and be free of the desires and schemes of men."

Her eyes lit. "You should seek admittance to the White House with me."

"What?" Rory started then almost laughed out loud. "You think I should join a monastery?"

"You seek to retire from the world, do you not?"

"Well, yes but I'm not religious. I have no faith." Rory argued.

"What?" Elwyna seemed horrified. "You have no faith? In anything? That is not possible. Everyone has faith in something and you are a good man. I can see it. You must believe in someone or something."

"I suppose I believe in something, principles, but I don't believe there are gods or there is a god out there somewhere looking down on us."

"Why ever not?" Elwyna asked.

"I don't know. I…" Rory hesitated. "I can't explain. I guess I haven't really thought it out and there's all this science that I can't explain to you. I just don't… I mean, look at me. I don't die. How does your faith explain that? What if I was to tell you that there are thousands of worlds just like this one and each of them was full of people? How do you explain that?"

"Well," Elwyna considered. "I am quite ignorant but there are many wise men at the White House. Perhaps that is why I met you. It was God's will I lead you to the White House where you could meet with the wise men and find answers to your questions."

"But I don't have questions." Rory insisted.

"Do you not?" Elwyna frowned, and seemed to mentally concede something. "Well, I suppose it would be easier for you. The purpose of your life is so definite. You exist to protect the Pandorica."

She frowned again and asked, "But…Centurion, what happens when your duty is fulfilled? What is the purpose of your life then?"

"I will be reunited with my love and I will live a simple life with her in peace." Rory replied, his answer practiced and immediate.

"But what will be your purpose? What will give your life meaning?" Elwyna asked.

"Life has no great meaning." Rory sighed. "There is no purpose. Life is an accident of chemistry. We try to assign purpose to it because we just can't face the fact that life is a cosmic accident and there is no meaning to it and no order behind it."

"You truly believe this?" Elwyna asked.

For some reason Rory hesitated. "I…yes, I do."

Elwyna reached up a hand to his cheek. "Then I am sorry for you." And she turned to go.

"Wait, Elwyna!" He called but she kept walking forward still holding part of her blouse together with her hands.

Rory grunted and leapt back to the Pandorica. When he reached the two corpses he started to kick them out of the way but paused to remove the shirt and jacket from the body of the man whose neck he'd broken.

He caught Elwyna up easily and held out the clothes almost as a peace offering.

"Please take them." He said and she put them on gratefully.

"Elwyna, don't be angry with me." He began.

"Angry?" She asked. "Why would I be angry?"

"I thought..I thought you were angry that I don't believe as you do."

"Of course not. Your belief that there is no true purpose to life saddens me, yes, but it does not change my feelings of admiration and gratitude. You are still a man worthy of my friendship and I would have you as a friend if you think me worthy."

Rory shook his head. "Do I think you're worthy? Elwyna, you're one of the most interesting and extraordinary women I've met in almost four hundred years. I would be honored to have you call me friend."

She smiled and Rory was struck again by how young she appeared.

"Elwyna, how old are you?"

"Sixteen." She answered. "What is your age?"

The question threw Rory off so much he stopped dead in his tracks. It was amazing but no one had really asked him the question before.

"I, uh," he stumbled. "I'm not sure."

He did some quick mental calculations and then sighed, "Whoa."

"Come now," Elwyna asked impatiently. "How many years have you?"

"511." Rory breathed. "I am 511 years old."

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><p><strong>I hope you are still enjoying the story. Thanks for reading.<strong>


	14. Chapter 14

**I just love the people who write reviews. I haven't had a chance to respond individually to the reviews in a while but I love how you anticipate where I'm going with a story arc. Someone made a suggestion for something about 1,000 years in Rory's future and it was spot on what I'd planned! You are all wonderful for taking the time to make suggestions and ask questions and offer encouragement. I never would have managed to get this far without it. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you!**

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><p>Rory and Elwyna continued along a generally North Western route. Neither of them knew the exact location of the 'White House', only that it was somewhere to the North of the Wall. As they travelled, Rory found her to be wonderful company and discovered that even his years in Gaul had been surprisingly lonely contrasted with having a constant travelling companion.<p>

Despite her recent trauma, Elwyna's spirits were high. Her conversation was cheerful and she delighted in recounting comical incidents from her village that made Rory laugh. When she had exhausted all her accounts she started to invent comical tales that often involved fairy tricks and riddles told by trolls. Rory was impressed with her imagination and told her frequently that she had a gift for storytelling.

"You should write your stories down." He insisted one morning as Elwyna was removing the makeshift harness she used to secure herself to the top of the Pandorica as she slept at night.

"Waste parchment on silly stories?" She asked, incredulous. "Parchment is for great thoughts and the scriptures. And how would I write such things when I cannot even read, and I not alone. Only the very wise and the very wealthy are taught and they would find no value in such stories."

Rory frowned and shrugged. "You're right. Though it is a pity."

Elwyna grinned. "Perhaps I shall teach my tales to a minstrel and he can set them to tune. Then years from now, when I am but a faint memory you might happen upon them and be reminded of me, yes?"

Rory smiled for her benefit but the matter of fact way she spoke of her death disturbed him. He decided to change the subject.

"Elwyna?"

"Hmm?" She had stopped to pluck a weed from the hedge and was chewing on the stem thoughtfully.

"If you don't mind my asking, why did you leave your husband and your village?"

Elwyna shrugged. "I left because my husband beat me. He was wroth with my father who would not take me back and I was afraid that he might kill me."

Rory had trouble reconciling the words she was speaking and the matter of fact way she was speaking them.

"Why?" He blurted. "Why on earth would he beat you?"

"He discovered I was barren and felt my father had cheated him." She said, again with a nonchalance that Rory found shocking.

"How could he even be sure? You're only 16. You're still a child."

"A child?" Elwyna frowned. "I was first wed at 15 years which is already half my life spent. How long would you have a maid wait?"

With a jolt Rory remembered all the classes in which he'd sat and had a teacher or professor spout out life expectancy statistics. If he remembered correctly around this era the average life expectancy at birth was 30 years. He tried to wrap his mind around that number. By that line, Elwyna was middle aged.

Of course, his mind amended, that was due also to factors such as infant mortality and childhood mortality. So, if you managed to live past 21 you were likely to live to something like your late forties or early fifties but…still.

Rory had lived in this time so long, yet he still thought of 45 or 50 years as a middle age not the age at which one died of 'old age'. He'd acted as physician and advisor to the people with whom he associated and almost all of them had lived to an age in keeping with the standard of his time. It was disconcerting to be reminded that those outside his sphere of influence had such low expectations and lived such brief lives.

"Centurion? Are you well?" Elwyna was looking at him with concern and Rory realized he had stopped walking while he processed his unpleasant epiphany.

"Yes. I apologize." Rory said quickly and Elwyna smiled.

"Good!" She exclaimed and then continued with her story. "Age mattered not, regardless. He knew when he determined my blood never came upon me. He was so angry. He beat me and drug me to my father's, demanding my dowry be returned. But my father refused; in truth I think he had already spent it. My husband threatened my father. He stripped off my dress saying that it was his and my father should not have it then he struck me until I was senseless and threw me in my father's sty."

Rory felt his eyes tear and on impulse pulled the startled girl close in an embrace.

"Centurion?" Elwyna asked, her voice muffled against his breast plate and he pulled her back to see her expression conveyed confusion. "What ails you?"

"Elwyna, in my home such a tale would bring tears to anyone's eyes. Anyone with a heart, leastways. It's terrible! How can you speak of it without bitterness, anger or even sadness?"

Elwyna frowned and shrugged. "It is in the past and it could have been worse. He might have killed me but instead I have won free and am beyond his or my father's reach. I have met you and now I journey to a religious house and have hope of being educated and learning more about our Lord and His purpose for me. How should I ignore these good things and think only on the bad that has past?"

Rory halted again and shook his head. "It's not… it cannot be so simple. You cannot endure such things and then dismiss them so completely."

Elwyna stopped and frowned pensively for a moment chewing on the weed stalk.

"I must confess there are times when I think of his words, it is the words more than the blows that weigh on my waking mind. Sometimes in my dreams I am trapped in his power, yet" Her expression lifted, "when I wake he is gone and you are here in his place. I know you say you have no faith in God but still I think you are His servant. I think perhaps, you are the answer to my prayers. How can I be so ungrateful to ignore my blessings when they are so great?"

Rory sighed, shaking his head in wonder.

"Elwyna, you are a rare and wonderful person." He declared.

She blushed. "No, do not say such things. I am as common a girl as ever there was."

"Elwyna, on this we must agree to disagree." Rory smiled and started moving forward again.

They continued on in a companionable silence for most of the day. Around midday Rory spotted wild carrot greens in the distance and as he and Elwyna harvested them she asked, "Centurion, why do you not believe in God?"

Rory paused and wondered how to explain his feelings in terms she could understand.

"God is meant to be all powerful and good, right?"

Elwyna nodded.

"And yet, there is so much evil in the world. What your father and your husband did to you was evil. What those men tried to do to you when first we met was evil. I have lived over 500 years and I have seen again and again the evil men wreak upon each other." He shrugged. "How am I to believe there is a merciful and powerful God who created such an evil world?"

"You do not believe in God because there is suffering in the world?" Elwyna asked.

"That is a reason, yes." Rory agreed.

"Yet, it is men who caused this suffering." Elwyna said. "I do not understand. You think that men cause suffering and so you blame God or, no, you say there is no God and you refuse to show mercy?"

"You think I should have released the men who attacked you." He stated, no question in his tone.

"I think that perhaps you could have shown mercy, yes."

"Why?" Rory asked. "Why did you let that other go? You know he will just find another poor girl like you and what then? Will there be another like me to step in and intervene? No. She will suffer because I did not stop him."

"Have you the power to predict the future?" Elwyna asked, and for the first time in their acquaintance she seemed angry. "Perhaps you have the right of it and I have condemned some poor unfortunate. But perhaps I have the right of it and by showing mercy I have unleashed a force for good. Perhaps a man who is faced with a just death and spared will change. Perhaps he will strive to be worthy and perhaps through his life others will be touched and moved for good!"

Rory simply stared as the teenager continued to rant.

"You say the world is full of suffering and God does nothing but I think you wrong. God charges us to bring love and kindness and mercy into the world. How can I say I follow Him and not show mercy, Centurion? How can you complain of misery in the world and do nothing to diminish it?"

Rory knelt silently for a moment and then said, "You are right. I am not sure I believe your God exists, Elwyna, but I am convinced that if everyone believed in your God, the world would not be so terrible."

Elwyna snorted. "He is not my God. One does not claim ownership of God. God is just…God."

"I disagree… again." Rory smiled and was glad to see Elwyna smile back. "I believe that the God a man worships often bears a striking resemblance to the man." He reached out and placed his hand on the girl's head. "You are so good, Elwyna. You have such a warm and loving heart. You use God as a justification for your desire to do good and show mercy. Others are not so kind and forgiving and they use God as a justification for their unkindness."

"Then they do not know God." Elwyna staunchly insisted.

Rory chuckled. "You are making my point."

"I am not sure I understand." Elwyna said. "Do you believe or not? What do you believe, Centurion?"

Rory was quiet a long time.

"I believe that there is nothing to be gained in seeking the meaning of all life but only of my life. I do not wish to tell other people what they should cherish. I seek to protect and advance the things I cherish and to question what I cherish and why. I need to question myself and my motives and whether when I act in the way that comes easiest it is the best way, not only for others, but for me as well."

"I do not understand." Elwyna admitted.

"I cherish you." Rory said. "I cherish the goodness in you. I remember caring for others but I have been injured because of the love I had for the people around me. I lost sight of everything but the pain I felt and I'm afraid I began to stop caring…no." Rory shook his head. "No, it is that I stopped believing in others, in the potential for good in others. I put my faith and my trust in the good of someone and I was betrayed. I had faith in the goodness of men and I lost that faith."

"And now?" Elwyna asked.

"Now, I.." Rory smiled. "Now I have hope again." He laughed. "I suppose, I have faith again."

He looked at Elwyna and said, "There was someone in my life who inspired me. I lived for her and to be worthy of her love."

"The one you lost." Elwyna stated. "The one who will be brought back when the Lord redeems the world."

"Yes," Rory confirmed. "She is, oh Elwyna, she is fire! Not just heat but light also. It has been so dark without her."

Rory heard a sniff and looked up to see tears streaming down Elwyna's freckled cheeks.

"Oh don't cry!" He said quickly.

"I can't help it." She sniffed. "It is so unfair that you are such a good man and your love is so true and you are thwarted. I am so sorry for your loss. I wish I could reunite you. She must be amazing to have won your heart."

Rory laughed. "What is amazing is that I won hers."

Elwyna leaned forward and rested her head on a hand that still gripped a large carrot. "I wish I could meet her." She sighed wistfully.

Rory felt a weight in his chest and nodded. "I wish you could, too. You would like her. And she would like you. You have a passion and compassion similar to hers."

Elwyna smiled and for a moment Rory was captivated by her otherworldly serenity.

Then she chomped on the carrot in a manner that brought a certain cartoon rabbit to mind and Rory found himself laughing uproariously while she stared as though he'd gone mad.


	15. Chapter 15

**I split this next bit into two chapters so the end might seem abrupt. I thought it was better than uploading a 5,000+ word chapter. I couldn't sleep which is good because it means I was writing but might be bad if the writing is bad. I hope all you amazing people who keep reading and reviewing like it. Thank you so much for reading and reviewing.**

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><p>Rory began to wish his journey with Elwyna could go on forever but, of course, it couldn't. And suddenly, they asked a young man on the road how far it was to the white house and he answered it was but a few days walk.<p>

Rory and Elwyna were both quiet for a few hours. Rory kept trying to think of some way to get the conversation going again but everything he thought of to say seemed out of place.

Finally, Elwyna said, "When we arrive, you will leave?"

Rory hesitated. "Yes, I think I will need to move on."

"You have not changed your mind about remaining." Elwyna said.

"I am sorry, Elwyna. I just don't think a monastery is the place for me."

Elwyna nodded but Rory heard her faint sniff.

"But," He began, and her head jerked up hopefully. "I also don't want to just leave you there. Suppose, suppose after a bit you decide you don't like it? I can't leave until I'm sure you'll be alright."

"Oh!" Elwyna gasped and then ran forward and hugged him fiercely. "Oh, thank you! I was so distraught! I am so glad you will not be leaving straight away."

Rory hugged her back gingerly and smiled.

Two days later they arrived. It was unmistakably the White House but also nothing like what Rory had expected. He'd expected monks in brown robes and nuns in habits. This looked more like an ordinary village; a growing village.

As they approached three men were perched on precarious looking scaffolding adding to the already impressive height of a brick wall.

When the youngest of the three turned and saw them in the road his eyes fixed on Elwyna. His jaw dropped and he stood still, staring. The other two men had taken no notice and one of them swung around in a practiced manner, clearly expecting the young man to have done something he hadn't and the long handle of his tool struck the staring young man.

Rory watched, horrified as the boy's arms pinwheeled violently, trying to maintain his balance but he continued to fall backward into the open air.

Rory acted instinctively. He leapt forward as hard and high as he could. He overshot the boy slightly, but that had been his intent because he knew he could only grab him without injuring him if he matched his downward velocity.

Rory placed his body horizontal to the ground and held the boy above him. When they struck Rory absorbed most of the fall and the collapse of his arms acted almost as a spring. It had all happened in just a few seconds.

"Centurion!" Elwyna screamed, running forward. She grabbed the boy and pushed him roughly aside.

"Careful." Rory grunted. "I just went to a lot of trouble to keep that guy from injuring himself. Don't you hurt him."

Elwyna's cheeks were wet with tears. "Are you alright?" She asked, patting his arms and chest in a way that reminded Rory of police procedurals.

Rory sat up and shook his head to free his hair of bits of dirt and grass then grabbed Elwyna gently by the shoulders.

"Elwyna!" He said. "I'm not hurt. I'm okay."

She nodded and seemed satisfied. Then her eyes and expression darkened in a way that made Rory want to gulp but her ire was not directed at him.

"Oi! You! You slack jawed _idiot_! What in the name of all that is Holy were you doing?" She was on her feet and marching at the young man who seemed uninjured but terrified. He scrambled to his feet and held up his hands.

"I beg your pardon, mistress!" He wimpered.

"Be more mindful of your duties in future." She shouted. "Else I'll make sure the Centurion lets you fall as you deserve!"

"Elwyna." Rory reproved and she bit her lip a bit sulkily before rolling her eyes.

"Fine." She fumed. "I apologize for wishing you ill. Just…be more mindful, you slack jawed idiot!" And she turned on her heel and stomped back toward the Pandorica.

Rory followed her. "I wasn't hurt you know. You shouldn't be so cross with him."

"His irresponsibility might have cost you your life!" She said. "I realize the Centurion, living and breathing and walking up the hill is quite a site but he might have… why are you laughing?"

"Because, dear Elwyna, he was not looking at the Pandorica or me."

She frowned for a few seconds and then took an involuntary step back pointing to herself, her mouth gaping, at which point Rory's giggle turned into a roar.

* * *

><p>One of the first things that hinted to Rory he might remain for a bit longer than he planned was how difficult it was to find the person in charge. No one seemed to know who it was or seemed inclined to accept the title. Rory had expected an established monastery with chanting monks and strange rules about food and sleep. What he found instead seemed at first inspection like an ordinary village. Then he learned that no one claimed ownership…of anything.<p>

Ninion, an older gentleman who commanded a great deal of respect in the community explained that they believed everyone should share and have all in common as he believed the first Christians did. The way he spoke of possessions causing ill will and being distracting to the spiritual life reminded Rory more of a Buddhist friend than what he understood of Christianity. There were few rules and, the thing that surprised Rory the most, no rules against marriage.

As far as he could tell, the main things that set this community apart were their voluntary communism, the sincerity of their devotion to their faith and the large church they were all engaged in building.

Elwyna was overjoyed to learn they had several books and that no one objected to her learning to read them. In fact Braden, the young man whom Rory had saved on that first day, enthusiastically offered to teach her.

Rory found himself enjoying his debates with Ninion and working on the church. The one was good exercise for his mind and the other just good exercise. The people of the village were very kind and welcoming and all seemed well until one day a bit over three months after they arrived.

Elwyna came to him in tears.

"I must leave." She said, half choking on a sob. "I must go, now. I … I…"

"Elwyna!" Rory jumped down from his perch on the Pandorica. "What is the matter? What is wrong? Has someone hurt you?"

Elwyna's lips were pressed tightly together but she shook her head no, her chest silently heaving.

"What is it?" Rory asked, deeply concerned. "What is wrong?"

"He…" She gasped. "Braden…he..he.."

"What did he do?" Rory asked, his voice suddenly sub arctic.

"He asked…he asked me to wed hiiiiiiiiiiiim." Elwyna broke down completely and grabbing Rory in a fierce hug began to sob unabashedly into his shoulder.

Rory blinked completely at a loss for a moment but patted her gently until her crying relented.

"Elwyna, I don't understand." Rory said to her reddish brown curls. "I had thought you cared for him."

"I do!" She wailed. "I do! He is sweet and kind and so thoughtful and yet strong and wise. He is everything a maid could desire."

Rory smiled. "Then why should you not wed him?"

"Because!" She shouted, hitting him on the chest angrily. "Daft man! Have you forgotten? I am already wed."

She plopped to the ground and sat with her face in her hands.

Rory had to admit, that had caught him napping.

He thought for a moment and then said, "But Elwyna, didn't your husband sort of give you back? Couldn't you consider that an end to your marriage to him? It has been six months. Much can happen in six months. He might be dead for all we would know here."

"I know, but..I cannot marry if I am still wed to another man." Elwyna sniffed, "T'would be adultery. I would make an adulterer of my beloved and I will not do such a thing to him."

"Surely," Rory began. "Surely the elders, Ninion, when they hear how your husband treated you and what he said when he brought you back to your father's, surely they would dissolve the marriage."

Elwyna looked up hopefully. "Do you think it is possible?"

Rory smiled and wiped a fat tear from her freckled cheek. "I do. Wait here; I will go speak with Ninion."

A few short hours later Rory returned with good news. The elders believed it just to consider the marriage between Elwyna and her husband ended. All they required was proof that her husband did indeed wish an end to it. Rory expected excitement from his friend but only met more glum looks.

"How shall I prove such a thing?" She asked.

"I will." Rory said. "I will go back to your village and have him sign a writ."

"He cannot write." Elwyna said.

"I will have him make his mark and bear witness to it." Rory countered, still grinning. "You will be wed by June."

"June?" Elwyna asked. "It took us three months to journey here."

"Ah, yes, but you walk slowly and you required rest, food, and many other things that do not trouble me. There is also the fact that I now know where I'm going, as you recall there were many times we took a road that turned in the wrong direction and forced us to retrace our steps. Now, I can make the journey much more quickly. I can be there and back in a month's time."

Rory was true to his word. In only two weeks of steady and rapid walking he arrived in Elwyna's village the impressive Pandorica in tow. Elwyna's husband, assuming she had died in the wild, had taken another wife and was more than happy to agree to an end of the marriage.

Rory brought the signed writ back and beamed happily at his friend's wedding.

Tragedy struck the little community a few years later when Braden's older brother Farlan was hurt badly in an accident. Rory did what he could but the injury to his head caused a subdural hematoma. There was nothing he could do to save him.

Rory watched Farlan's pregnant wife sob into Elwyna's shoulder as the body of the man she loved was lowered into his grave and walked away. He found himself leaning against the Pandorica which had, once again, taken up residence in a courtyard, this time the courtyard of the as yet incomplete church.

"Centurion?" Elwyna's voice was soft.

"How is Marion?" He asked.

"She has gone to her bed." Elwyna said and absentmindedly plucked a weed from the ground and began to chew on the stalk.

She stepped forward and briefly touched the Pandorica, a sort of greeting she had developed over the years. "I fear what strength the child leaves her has been sapped by her grief."

"I am sorry." Rory breathed. "I am so sorry I could not save him."

"Centurion!" Elwyna rebuked kindly. "None blame you. You did what you could and more than others. You eased his pain and Welthar says without your medicines he never would have again woken and been able to bid Marion farewell nor name his child. You gave them a few more seconds which is a gift not easily repaid."

"The child." Rory said. "He will never know his father. He will never know how good and kind and brave a man he was. He will always feel that loss, as though a piece of him were missing."

Elwyna did not answer immediately but suddenly she was standing next to him. She reached out and touched his shoulder.

"You speak of his pain as if you had bourn it." She said at last.

Rory let his head drop and his forehead rest against the bitterly cold box.

_Oh, Amy. _He thought. _Amy, I need you. I miss you. Amy, please come out._

It was ridiculous and perhaps selfish but he wished it just the same.

Elwyna stood with him silently until nightfall and then he seemed to shake himself out of the stupor.

"Are you still here?" He asked. "What are you doing?"

She smiled and to his surprise her eyes filled with tears.

"I am comforting a friend." She stepped forward and hugged him. "My dear, dear friend."

* * *

><p>When Marion went into labor they, of course, called Rory. He gave her a potent herbal mixture he'd developed over the years for pain which diminished but by no means eliminated her discomfort. He helped her with breathing and even some hypnotic exercises and soon the baby was crowning. Elwyna was by their side, so tireless Rory wondered if being a Nestene Auton might be catching. The baby was born with little complication, a strong vibrant girl with a shocking allotment of bright ginger hair and very well developed lungs. Marion was laughing with adrenaline, endorphins and relief while the baby suckled her breast for the first time.<p>

"Elwyna." She breathed. "That is the name your father wished for you had you been a girl. So, Elwyna you shall be."

Rory heard a gasp behind him that let him know his friend had returned with the fresh water in time to hear the baby named.

"Ah," He said, "Marion the after birth is coming. I need you to push. It should not be as deep as the others."

Rory held the umbilical cord and poised himself for the unpleasant task of catching the placenta. When it came he fought to retain his composure but when he glanced up and saw Elwyna's expression he knew he had failed.

"Elwyna, will you come with me as I dispose of this?" He asked and she nodded. "Braden, you stay here with Marion and the little one."

When they were out of ear shot she hissed, "What is it?"

"There is too much blood." Rory said quietly. "I know this condition. I've seen it many times. Sometimes the afterbirth, when it removes itself from the womb it causes a tear."

Elwyna nodded, absorbing the information. "How do you treat such a thing?"

"It is difficult." Rory said. "Even with…even with the tools of my homeland it is difficult. Here," He felt a tear escape. "There is nothing I can do, Elwyna. If the bleeding does not stop of its own accord she will die, and quickly."

Elwyna stepped back from him, shaking her head. "No." She said and turned away.

"No." She repeated, a bit louder and her shoulders began to shake.

"No!" She screamed. "NO! You can't! Please! You can't take her!"

Rory stepped forward and tried to pull her close, to hug and comfort her as he had in the past but she pulled away.

"It's not fair!" She screamed at him. "Why? Why does she have to die? Why should she die when the cruel live on? Not her, please." She fell to the ground and sobbed into the thick grass. "Please, please, please."

Rory wiped away his own tears and grabbed Elwyna by the shoulders.

"Not now." He said. "Now we need to go back. We have to help her, Elwyna."

"We can't!" Elwyna cried. "You said so."

"We can't help her get better." Rory corrected. "We can help her die at peace. Do you want her to die alone?"

Elwyna's lip trembled even though she bit it but she shook her head no.

"Okay." Rory said, nodding encouragingly. "Okay, let's go back."

Marion was already noticeably paler but seemed to still be in good spirits. She was staring adoringly at her now sleeping baby.

"She has the look of her father." She said quietly. "Does she not?"

"She is the image of him." Rory said with a forced smile. "Poor child."

Marion laughed softly then said. "Oh, I wish he could be here and see how beautiful she is."

"Mayhap, he does." Elwyna said, gently pushing Marion's sweaty hair from her face.

"Elwyna?" Marion asked. "Can you take her? I am…I am so weary of a sudden."

Tears crept silently down Elwyna's face but she smiled and said, "Oh yes, please. What a beauty! She is such a beauty, sister mine."

Marion's eyes were closed. "Yes, like her namesake."

Elwyna's lip trembled. "I love you, Marion. I love you so much."

Marion sighed but said nothing more. After a few minutes Rory reached out and felt for a pulse and then draped her body with one of the sheets.

* * *

><p>A note about the community: As far as I can tell from my research this is how the early monastic groups conducted themselves at this point in history. The more strict communities that abstained from things like foods, intercourse and in some cases even speaking developed later. The character Ninion is based on St. Ninion who was said to have founded the church at Whithorn, though I've got him about a century later in time that he is reported to have lived. So, I'm just fudging the timeline on that one a bit. Hope no die hard historians are in the readers and ready to beat me. If so, my deepest apologies but I thought it would be more interesting to have Rory and Elwyna arrive in a newly established community.<p> 


	16. Chapter 16

Rory knocked on the door to Braden and Elwyna's cottage a bit worried.

"Centurion!" Three year old Wynnie greeted him enthusiastically. "We're late cuz Mumma's sick!"

"Sick?" Rory asked, concerned.

"Tis nothing!" Elwyna called but her voice was coming from the corner Rory knew housed her bed and he stepped forward into the cozy house.

Elwyna was sitting up still dressed in her shift.

"What's wrong?" Rory demanded.

"I told you, tis nothing." She said. "My dinner did not agree with me I think. I have been a bit sick but I am already feeling much improved."

Wynnie nodded. "Just as yester morn."

"You were sick yesterday, too?" Rory asked.

"Only a bit." Elwyna said, smiling. "Oh do not look so dour. I am quite well. I have told you it is nothing. It passed all the times before, it will again now."

Rory absorbed that information.

"So, Elwyna, you've been sick in the mornings for how long?"

"Oh, a week, mayhap two." She answered, pulling on her overdress. "Oh, and thank you again for these…" She hesitated a moment and gestured to some spiral hairpins Rory had fashioned for her birthday present a month earlier. "…these hair things. They have made keeping my hair out of my way so much easier. I cannot recount it. Every woman should have these devices."

"Elwyna," Rory hesitated. "May I ask you to, well, to let me examine you in a way that may seem odd and a bit improper?"

Elwyna blinked for a moment. "I suppose." She said, just as hesitant as Rory.

Rory knelt in front of her and placed his ear to her abdomen. When he stood he was grinning and seemed satisfied.

"What?" She asked. But Rory just grinned almost vibrating with excitement.

"What ails you, mad man?" Elwyna said and slapped him with a dish cloth. "Out with it!"

"You, my dear friend, are with child." He fairly sang.

Elwyna paled and her eyes filled with tears.

"Do not say such things." She hissed. "How could you? How dare you prod an open wound? You know…you know I cannot…" She sat down and began to cry.

"Elwyna, I assure you. You are with child. I heard the child's heart with my own ears. I can hear what others cannot."

"But!" Elwyna gasped. "But it cannot be! I have never had my blood."

"Yes, I always wondered about that." Rory said. "It's rare but I think what it is is your body never completed an ovulation cycle. It has to do with hormones. Anyway, it is not unheard of for women who have struggled with infertility to suddenly become pregnant after adopting a child. When you love a child and nurture it as your own it releases many of the same hormones a new mother would have..."

"I don't know these words!" Elwyna interrupted. "What you say is meaningless."

Rory shook his head. "What I mean is to say, your body did not act fully as a woman because it was sick but because you loved Wynnie so much and so completely, your body was fooled into thinking you were her mother. It made it possible for you to conceive and since you and that man of yours fulfill your marital duties quite faithfully, the first opportunity your body had to make a child, it did."

Elwyna shook her head and still seemed confused. Not just confused, afraid. As though she dared not believe what her old friend was telling her.

"Elwyna." Rory stepped forward and held her head in his hands. "Trust me. You are with child."

And finally his friend cried tears of joy.

* * *

><p>Rory grinned as he released his surprise. He had been scouring the hills for heather and the lakeside and ponds for meadowsweet for the days leading up to the wedding. He had plucked all the pedals and now as the new bride and groom left the completed church he pulled the rope that released one end of the canopy and listened to Coira cry out in joy as the thousands of pedals floated down on her like snow.<p>

Elwyna and Braden stepped out next and she looked at Rory and nodded gratefully. The feast was enjoyed by all and Farlan said his only regret on this, he wedding day, was that the Centurion, his mother's long companion and friend could not join them in eating it.

After much of the food had been eaten and many had wandered back to their homes Elwyna came and sat near him. They said nothing at first and just enjoyed each other's company.

"Thank you." She said. "They will long tell the tale of how the Centurion made it rain flowers on my son's wedding day."

Rory smiled. "Another legend."

"Oh, another song." Elwyna corrected, laughing. "I'll write it tonight. You'll never be rid of me my friend. My songs will live forever."

Rory frowned.

"Ah, now I've done it." Elwyna chuckled. "Such a sour look." She turned and her expression became an exaggeration of Rory's.

"It's well and good for you to speak so freely of your death." Rory grunted. "How would you feel if I were to speak that way of the death of one you cherish?"

Elwyna sobered. "You're right. I shouldn't tease you."

She elbowed him gently. "Forgive me?"

Rory sighed. "Of course I do. I can't stay angry with you and you know it you demon woman."

Braden came and sat with them sighing. "He's a good boy and she's a good girl. They are very well matched. Though I wish Wynnie could have come."

"Braden, you slack jawed idiot, you know it was too far for her to travel with her time so near. Even had her husband condoned such lunacy, I would have forbid it." Elwyna scolded.

"Yes, yes. It's just; I had so looked forward to us all being together again." He sighed. "Still, it is a blessing to live to see your children happy and settled into life."

Rory smiled. "Yes it is."

* * *

><p>Rory leaned over Braden, listening for breath.<p>

"I'm sorry, Elwyna. He's gone."

His friend nodded her head. Her hair was almost completely grey now but he could still see hints at the reddish brown he remembered.

She squeezed her husband's hand. "He's still warm." She said. "I..his hand is still warm in mine." Her voice broke and Rory's heart with it.

"Not yet." She said suddenly. "Wait, Braden, my darling. You…you slack jawed idiot! Wait! Not yet, please. Just a bit longer. Please, don't leave me yet."

Rory stepped around the death bed and gathered his old friend into his arms until her sobs were spent.

They buried Braden the next day and Rory carved the epitaph Elwyna wrote deep into the stone.

Here lies Braden, son of Denholm

A man of peace

A man of God

He rests in peace with his Lord

* * *

><p>Rory winced in sympathy as Elwyna paused to rest for the second time on their way up the hill to the graveyard.<p>

"Let me help you." He said at last. "I can carry you up the hill, Elwyna. You're light as a feather."

The teenager's eyes sparked like fire in the old woman's face. "You lay a finger on me, you old Roman, and I'll tear it off, I will. The day I need help getting up to that graveyard is the day you're carrying me to my own little bed."

Rory sighed and watched helpless as she resumed her laborious assent.

"You are so Scottish." He said without thinking and then stood still.

"What?" Elwyna asked when she realized he'd stopped. "What ails you? I am the one who grows aged. You are the one who mocks me with your youth. Get on with you now. I warn you, young man, I'll not wait."

Rory shook himself out of the strange feeling of déjà vu and kept pace with his friend until they stood before her husband's grave.

"He was a good man." She said as she brushed a leaf from the memorial stone.

"Yes, he almost deserved you." Rory smiled.

Elwyna didn't answer but leaned forward suddenly and heavily on the stone.

"Elwyna?" Rory asked, suddenly worried.

"Just…just dizzy." She said faintly. "Mayhap I will…I will let you carry me, old friend. I am so weary just now."

"Of course." Rory said quickly. "I'll take you back to Farlan's cottage straightaway."

"No," Elwyna shook her head. "No, not straightaway if you please. If it's all the same to you, I'd like to see the Pandorica. I haven't been to see it in such a long time."

Rory nodded. "Sure. I'm sure she'd like that."

He gathered the old woman up in his arms and carried her effortlessly to the church courtyard. Still holding her in his arms he approached the massive stone and Elwyna reached out and touched it as was her custom but this time her hand remained.

"Hello," She said to the Pandorica. "I know you're in there. He lets fall things, sometime. I've known his love was imprisoned in this stone for years now. I know. He is a good man. Such a good man. I cannot help but believe that you are a great woman."

Rory gulped. He wanted to say something but it felt wrong to interrupt.

"He is my dearest friend." Elwyna went on. "My very dear friend. I hope you will love him well. I know he will love you. If I stand before God I will kneel and beg He give you both happiness. It is my dearest wish that you and your Centurion will be happy."

Rory couldn't hold back any longer.

"Elwyna, please." He found himself crying. "Please don't say these things."

"You're so clever, my friend." Elwyna said. "If I can sense it surely you can. My time is here."

Rory shook his head. "Not yet. Not yet. Don't leave me alone again. I can't be alone again, Elwyna, please."

"I am so sorry." She sighed. "You will have to wait for her alone for a bit but you will find a new companion, a new adventure and purpose and joy until she comes again. Then you will be so happy, my friend. I dream of the day I look down from Heaven and see you in her arms."

"Amy." Rory whispered the name aloud. "Her name is Amy."

"Amy." Elwyna's voice was faint but awed. "Beautiful."

Then she was still.

"Elwyna?" Rory asked even though he knew she would not answer.

He brought her home and laid her on her bed. He comforted her children as best he could. He insisted on digging her grave and carved her epitaph.

Here lies Elwyna, wife of Braden

She truly loved her neighbor as herself

As long as love survives, so shall her spirit

Farlan and Coira offered Rory comfort and asked about him but they seemed to suspect that he would not stay long after Elwyna's passing. Any doubts that lingered were removed when Rory began to construct a cart for the Pandorica.

Farlan came out to help and after a few hours they paused to allow him to rest.

"Where will you go?" Farlan asked after taking a long drink of water from the boiled supply Rory had so long ago insisted they keep on hand.

Rory shook his head. "I don't know."

"Then why?" Farlan asked. "Why go? We love you! Little Marion adores you. Everyone in the whole community does. Why must you leave?"

"She's everywhere." Rory said at last. "Everywhere I turn, I see your mother. I see her, hear her; old and young. I cannot look at any place in this village without seeing some memory of her."

"But is that so bad?" Farlan asked. "Is it so bad to be reminded of her?"

"It is when you live forever." Rory answered and Farlan confessed he could not understand.

Three days and nights work later Rory had finished the cart and loaded the Pandorica snugly into place.

Wynnie had stayed behind her family in order to bid him farewell and he hugged the children of his friend close in a long and warm embrace.

"I will never forget her, nor you." He muttered and then he broke the embrace, grabbed the cart harness and headed off, all the while fighting the urge to glance up to the top of the Pandorica in search of the flash of green eyes and reddish brown hair.

* * *

><p><strong>And now Rory is officially in the 7th century. Woohoo! We're almost...not quite... not even half way there? [headdesk] I'm going to be writing this story FOREVER.<strong>


	17. Chapter 17

**Author's Note:**

To call this chapter late is a disservice to the word. I could go through a long list of all the things that happened but I won't because they're boring and depressing. I never forgot about the story though and things look promising for the near future. So, I will start posting new chapters starting now...

* * *

><p>Rory had been daydreaming on the day his life took another turn. He didn't really know how long it had been since he found the cave. He didn't really know how long it had taken him to find the cave. He had promised Elwyna's children he wouldn't forget her or them. Soon after he left the village he began to wonder how that would be possible. He knew he had built a wall in his mind. He knew there were things, places, people that triggered odd feelings of familiarity. He knew that memories already seemed to be growing more crowded in his mind and eventually he would have to lock his memories away again and he just couldn't stand the thought.<p>

There had to be a way to prevent it.

Then, it occurred to him that if he didn't create new memories…if he didn't meet new people and have new experiences…he wouldn't have to purge these memories that were so precious to him.

He looked long and hard for the perfect place. His instinct was to find a cave but they were all so ugly; damp, dark, covered in mold and fungi, they didn't at all seem the sort of place Amy belonged. He kept looking.

He was more careful this time, though. He travelled only at night. He avoided all human contact. He couldn't risk making contact, making a connection, making new memories. He wondered if he could ever properly explain it to anyone. How do you explain feeling a sense of love and affection for a name that conjures no memory? Whenever anyone mentioned Hadrian's wall Rory felt such deep and conflicting emotions but there was nothing there. No face, no words, no true memories just irrefutable evidence that those memories existed at one time.

Even worse than the indefinite lost memories of Hadrian were the truly lost memories; the people Rory didn't even remember forgetting. He'd lived centuries before he'd built the wall, after all. How many people had he known and loved and lost in all that time? People with no convenient monument to draw attention to their absence. People like Elwyna.

Rory kept travelling. He kept avoiding human contact. He kept searching for a resting place worthy of Amy where he could avoid new memories and revel in the precious memories to which he still laid claim. Fleda, Adrian, Braden, Coira and Farlan…even Clovis.

When he came across the resting place there was no doubt in his mind. The inner cave was just as dank and dreary as all the others and Rory found himself pounding the wall in frustration. Then part of the wall gave way and revealed a cascade of gently glowing crystal. He vaguely remembered hearing about caves full of phosphorous crystals and began a more careful excavation. In only a few days he had carved out a larger chamber in the deeper recesses of the tunneling mountain that glowed with a beautiful hue. This was a place worthy of Amy and her pandorica.

He settled the great stone box into place and began to wait in much the same way as he had done all those centuries before underneath Stonehenge. Except this time instead of trying to replay old Monty Python routines, Rory concentrated on his remaining memories. He'd live through the day he'd discovered Elwyna was pregnant. The morning little Fleda had opened her eyes and sleepily smiled at him, letting him know that she was finally on the road to recovery. The jokes he had overheard the Adrian's crew sharing.

Not a day went by that he didn't also spend some time with Amy in his memory. His tenth birthday when she'd furiously smashed her slice of cake into his face for not properly appreciating his present. The day she'd punched Sean Pegg for tripping him. The day she'd saved him from the water bug, alien, vampire…thing in Venice.

He never left the cave. It was almost like he was recycling time. He was conserving them; reduce, reuse, recycle.

He managed to maintain this for over 100 years but as they say, no man is an island and no Nestene plastic duplicate either. One day the world came crashing in on him again, literally.


	18. Chapter 18

I was so tired and yet, I could not even imagine how tired Tenea must be. The sound of the dogs had faded after the rain, which was good but Tenea and I were both drenched and freezing, which was bad.

"A bit farther, my darling." I mumbled through chattering teeth. "We will find a place for you to rest soon."

I pulled forward as gently as I could on the arm I held but she stood fast.

"Promise me Calden." She chattered as she stroked her swollen belly. "I am near my time and I have heard…I have heard of…when a mother dies near her time if they are quick…" She grabbed my face firmly. "If they do not hesitate and they are quick they can cut the baby free."

I wrenched my head from her grasp. "No!" I wanted to run away from her and this horror she described.

"Calden, please." She lurched forward, caught off balance by my movements and I rushed back to her side.

"I am sorry, Tenea. I am so sorry." I cried. "It is all my fault. Had you never loved me you could have lived your life in peace, free from these politics and my brother's ambition. You could have carried your child in comfort and not had to fear such things."

Tenea sighed but her breath caught in a sob.

"Silly boy." She said at last. "I love you. I love our child. I could not imagine happiness without you, both of you. I did not marry you because you were the heir to your father's kingdom and I do not care that your brother has stolen it. I care only for you. I did not love you because you were of noble blood and I will never hate you for it either."

I felt tears spring to my eyes and hoped she would not see them in the rain.

"Will you promise me that you will try to save the babe? If aught happens to me I will rest easier if I can look down from heaven and see you in each other's company."

I tried to fight the sob that escaped me then. I couldn't speak but I nodded.

"Thank you for your promise, my darling." Tenea sighed holding me in an embrace made awkward by her distended abdomen.

I returned the embrace and said fiercely. "Now you must promise me that I will never have cause to keep it."

Tenea said nothing but nodded into my shoulder.

We knelt in the slight warmth of each other's embrace for a moment longer and then Tenea pulled away.

"We will all three of us die, from cold or your brother's swordsmen, if we linger here much longer."

I helped her to her weary and swollen feet and we set off again.

Soon, I saw a rocky outcropping. Perhaps there was a cave of some sort to be found. Tenea agreed it was possible and we began to circle it and climb.

"At the very least," She huffed. "They will have to dismount their horses and join us in the mud."

I grinned, amazed at how Tenea could manage to find a bit of albeit dark humor even in this circumstance.

I felt the ground shudder before it gave way. For an instant, perhaps a second or three I knew that we were going to fall. In those few seconds I managed to think of three things to do and the most effective seemed to be to jump. I was still trying to think of a direction when the earth crumbled and I heard Tenea scream as we fell.

My only thought then was that she must live. She and the child I had not met but already loved must not die like this, not because of me.

I pulled up on Tenea and positioned her above me. When we landed, I would cushion her fall. It might not be enough but at least there was hope.

When we landed, it was not the sudden stop I was expecting but more of a slipping. There was force in the impact but it was to one side. We were shooting perilously fast down a sort of tube, slick with water and moss.

"Calden!" Tenea screamed.

"All is well." I yelled back.

We had slowed significantly when our luck finally departed and we fetched up against a wall, finally still.

Before I lost myself I thought I saw a figure walking toward us, an angel surrounded by a wall of blue light. Then the light faded away.

I opened my eyes to a world of color and light. I knew I must be dead. Surely this was heaven. My skin glowed a bluish green hue I had never before seen. And yet…

And yet there was the smell. The unmistakable smell of damp earth. Was I truly in Heaven?

Was I in the pit?

There was no fire, no hell flames to torment me. To the contrary it was quite cold.

What was this place that glowed like heaven yet was buried far beneath? I sat still, feeling the many aches and pains my desperate journey had amassed, and my eyes searched out this new world.

Where was Tenea?

_If I am dead_, I considered, _then it is good she is not here._

And yet my heart sank and tears sprang to my eyes. What was it she had said? That she would be comforted by looking down from heaven and seeing me and our child in each other's company? I hoped I would be granted the ability to watch my family.

Then I heard the footsteps.

I waited, wondering if I would face an angel or demon.

But only another human face greeted me. He was dirty, filthy really. Tall, thin and…it is hard to put in words but he appeared restless even in motion. His eyes darted about and he refused to look at me.

"You are tired, I expect." His voice was quiet yet carried well in the closed space of the glowing cave. "You shouldn't be here. No one should be here but, but, but, yes. Yes, I know. I know it isn't your idea. I know you fell. Made a mess but I picked it up. No more will come. You shouldn't be here. But you weren't to know and you are tired, I expect."

The words came quickly and I wondered often as he spoke if he were truly speaking to me but now he had dammed the flow of words and finally looked at me. He wanted an answer.

"Yes." I croaked. "Yes, I am tired. Where is Tenea? The woman I was with. She was here last I saw."

"She was weak." He whispered. "I couldn't wake her. It isn't good here. Too cold. She was too cold so I carried her back to Amy. Then I came to fetch you. You're not pregnant. Women and children first, you know … and she was both!" His voice had grown stronger as he spoke and he laughed at the last.

"Well, c'mon." He smiled and waved me forward. "I don't need it but there's fresh water in my cavern and even some edible mushrooms. You can't eat mushrooms forever but I don't expect you'll be here long."

I struggled to stand, something was wrong with my left leg and I remembered vaguely trying to catch up against the wall we fetched up against. I shook my head against the pain and took a step forward.

The room echoed with my scream as my leg collapsed below the knee. Fiery pain lanced through my body and mind. My stomach clenched into a knot, forcing what little food up. I heaved and choked and finally rejoiced as the pain slipped away into another wave of blackness.

When I woke again I was in an immense cavern. In the previous room bits of glowing rock had stood out from the walls but this huge chamber was lined with nothing but light. A stream of water leached through one of the walls and then wound its way back into the earth in one corner of the room creating an almost musical sound with its flow. The thing that demanded an observers attention though was a massive square stone in the very midst of the room. It was perfectly illuminated by the light of the walls, covered in strange markings. My mind teased me with a forgotten memory. Where had I heard of a large carved stone before? Oh, it didn't matter. What mattered was Tenea and she was nowhere to be seen. I started to rise but remembered the horror of pain I had only just escaped and stilled, suddenly afraid to move.

"I've given you something." The stranger's voice came from my right. "For the pain, I mean. I gathered what I needed in the darkness so you needn't worry that the men pursuing you will have followed me back. I saw them, though, and heard them. I must say, I don't much care for men who seek to murder young families."

As he spoke he moved toward me with a bowl.

"Drink this. You choked down a goodly bit in your sleep but you have slept for over a day and that break will be quite intolerable soon."

I looked in his eyes, wary but then he smiled.

"All is well, Calden. Drink."

I didn't. Instead I asked. "How do you know my name?"

"Tenea told me. Don't worry, she is well. She's in much better shape then you actually. Drink the potion."

"Where is she?"

"She's fetching mushrooms. You can wait until she returns but by then your pain will be back in force and she will be angry. She can't hurt me but I'm afraid she might do you even more injury if she finds you have suffered needlessly because you would not drink a simple draft. Now drink!"

"Who are you?" I asked when he had pulled the bowl away, satisfied.

He hesitated. "I…I have many names. I haven't used any of them in so long." He reached out and touched the stone box and suddenly that barely remembered tale surged forward into my mind.

"The Centurion!" I blurted. "The Lone, The Last Centurion! You are real. It's really you! You are really real?"

The Centurion smiled sadly. "I do not know if the stories you might have heard are true, but I am real and I am the one they called the Lone Centurion. Do they tell stories of me being a healer?" He asked.

"Oh yes!" I breathed. "They say you could cure any illness and even raised the dead. There is a tale of a boy who foolishly played in the river even though his mother had warned him three times hence that he should not. The boy, ignoring his mother's wisdom played in the river was caught up in the force of it and drowned. When his cold, wet body was washed up on the shore his poor mother wept and cried aloud asking why her son had been so wicked and come to such a terrible end. Then the Last Centurion rose up from the waters and bid the good mother not to cry. For the boys sins the Centurion struck his chest three times but then to show he was forgiven, he gave the boy a kiss. Then, the water was driven from the boy's body and he was restored to his mother and swore never to disobey her again."

It was an old tale my mother had told me many, many times and I had thought it a bit silly when I grew older but the Centurion seemed to think it hilarious. He laughed as I have scarcely seen a man laugh before.

"Well," He sighed finally, wiping mirthful tears from his eyes. "Well, I am the cautionary tale now aren't I? Doesn't matter. What matters is I am a healer of some repute and I am telling you to drink this potion."

I drank.

He had been right. The pain in my leg had been increasing as we talked but now I felt the rising tide slow and start to recede. I settled back into the squishy substance I seemed to be cocooned in and stared at the glowing walls.

"It's phosphoresce." He said, pointing to the crystals. "Not that that explanation will mean anything to you."

He stood and stared at the walls with such an odd expression.

"Honestly, I'm not sure it means anything to me any longer either."

Then he turned his attention back to me with an alarming intensity.

"Did you know, Calden, the sun doesn't reach the bottom? The bottom of the sea, I mean. There are so many more places in this world that never see the sun than there are those bathed in it and still.." He chuckled. "Still there is light! There in the crushing, abysmal depths there is still light. The creatures that live there, they make it themselves. Bioluminescence, it's called but its magic, Calden. I see that now. The same as these walls here. I see that no matter how dark the world may seem, no matter how gloomy, no matter how long, how many centuries it has been since the sun shone down, light is always there if you look for it. Do you understand?"

I shook my head groggily, the potion taking effect.

"It will come again." He said and turned to the strange stone box, caressing it like a lover. "The light will shine again. I know it will. We just need to wait. Just a bit longer."

_He is mad._

I remember how clear the thought was in my muddled head. How utterly sure I was that the man before me was lost. He seemed to sense my thought for he turned to me.

"I'm not as mad as I seem." His voice was almost apologetic. "You see, it's just. I don't want to forget again. I hid myself away. I hid from them, all of them because then I'd have to remember them and I couldn't, couldn't keep the people I already have. Do you understand? I love them and I don't want to lose anyone else. I can't."

He reached out and gripped my arms, his eyes shining with tears that seemed to glow in the strange light of the crystal cave. "Do you understand?"

Without thinking I again shook my head. "I do not. I am sorry."

To my surprise this answer did not anger him. He smiled sadly, released his grip on my arms and patted me absently.

"Of course not." He said, almost as though he were consoling me. "Of course, you do not understand. How could you? It's alright. I understand enough for the both of us."

His eyes flitted as Tinea entered the cavern. "Well, come on. I'm not so far removed from you people I've forgotten how often you need to feed yourselves. Let's get some food in the both of you, eh?"

And he marched purposefully toward Tenea and her skirt full of mushrooms.

I think until that moment I did not like him. I had trusted him but reluctantly. Rather like a bridge one suspects without any real proof of frailty and yet must of necessity still cross. At that moment, my wariness left me. I did not understand him then. I do not think I ever truly did, but I had already begun to pity him, to like him, and, yes, to trust him.


	19. Chapter 19

Rory started at the unexpected volume of the girl's laughter echoing through the cavern. He glanced over to see that as he expected Tenea had been teasing Calden again. He tuned his ears in their direction.

"'tis not so!" Calden insisted.

"Aye, 'tis!" Tenea giggled. "Though I am heavy with child, I am more than a match for you."

"Best mind your tongue, Lass. Twill not always be so." Calden growled but with a grin.

"Ooooh!" Tenea gasped. "My poor heart! The way you lay there helpless as a babe is truly terrifying. You will frighten me."

"Come here and I will show you how helpless I am."

Tenea feigned resistance before curling up on the moss bed Rory had gathered for the couple.

_At least it's not bunk beds._

The thought was clear in his mind. As clear as anything but when he stopped to consider it, he found nothing. There was so much that seemed to fly in and out of his mind. It was too crowded in there. Rory sighed, looking at the couple again. Every minute he spent with them, learning about them, burdening his mind with the memories they created every second; the more slippery his memories became. He was glad that he'd been more clear headed when they arrived. Calden's leg had been quite severely broken and Rory had found it difficult enough to treat then. Now?

He shook his head and almost imagined he could hear the bits and pieces of himself break loose and rattle about.

"Healer!"

Calden's cry shook Rory from his reverie.

He glanced up, taking in the scene quickly. Tenea lay on her side, her legs curled into her abdomen as much as her condition allowed and her small groan seemed grotesquely loud as it echoed through the chamber.

Rory leapt forward and effortlessly lifted the girl into a more comfortable position next to Calden on the spongy moss.

"What happened?"

"The fault was mine." Tenea gasped. "I sought jest…aaaah!"

"She sought to show me how able she was compared w'me." Calden finished for her. "She was hopping about to mock my lameness and she slipped."

"How severe is your pain, Tenea?" Rory asked, reaching for the nurse within.

"Ay!" She cried. "'tis not so bad. I fear tomorrow I will have a grave disposition but I shall soon be mended aaah!" The sentence ended in an involuntary cry of horror as Tenea held up a hand that seemed to be covered in a slick black substance.

"What is it?" She cried but Rory already knew. Though the light from the phosphorescent rocks concealed it's signature color, he would recognize the smell of blood anywhere.

"'Tis warm!" Tenea was still confused.

"It is blood, Tenea." Rory said in as comforting a voice as he could. "I fear you have injured yourself but I will treat you. Do you understand?" Tears were in the girl's eyes and she shook with fear but she nodded.

Rory reached out and pulled her curly hair from her face in what he hoped was a reassuring gesture.

"All will be well, dear girl. Do not fear."

"Centurion," Calden fretted. "What is wrong? Will she die?"

Rory scowled, furious at the tactless question until he turned and was reminded with a shock how young this couple was.

"You will cure her?" The boy half asked, half begged.

Rory sighed and nodded. "I will do all that I can. It is…" He reached for the information. What was it? He'd seen it before. He'd worked in Casualty and there had been a traffic collision. Normally any pregnancies were referred upstairs but this had been an extremely emergent case and they'd had to… What?

Rory closed his eyes and concentrated.

"Centurion? … Centurion?!... Healer!"

"Quiet!" Rory yelled. "I am concentrating!"

"She won't wake up!" Calden cried. "I cannot get her to wake!"

Tenea's complexion was ashen. Something. Something! What was it?

Placenta! It was something to do with placenta and a trauma…

Rory stilled. Tears escaped unbidden from his eyes and he turned to Calden.

"Calden, I can help Tenea but I must remember." He said quietly. "It will be easier this time. I need not build a wall and there is not so much.." His voice choked off and he turned his thoughts determinedly away from what he was about to lose. "I will be still for a moment. I may appear in pain. Do not fear."

He wished he had more time but he could not explain further. This had to be done quickly.

Rory opened his mind to that terrible moment. Amy was before him and for a moment he didn't mind. Her hand was on his face. "You are Rory Williams and you aren't going anywhere ever again." But he could feel it, the death in his head pulling him out of the plastic thing he embodied inch by inch. When the muzzle emerged he felt it but only distantly. Amy was looking at him and he thought, again, he thought that he could win.

Rory wished to scream, to pull away from what came next but he had to be here. He had to do this.

The light flashed. Her eyes, her beautiful eyes widened in surprise, in pain but worst of all betrayal. Then they emptied as she crumpled lifeless in his arms.

Rory screamed but the light of the blast seemed to grow until it encompassed him and the mournful scene. Suddenly memories were leaching out of him and he knew he had been wrong. He couldn't remember why he had decided to lock them away but he was wrong!

It didn't matter. It was too late. The door closed and he could not bear to open it again.

He blinked away tears and the scene of the cavern was before him.

"How long have I been still?" Rory asked fearfully.

Calden's eyes were huge with fear and horror. "Only moments. Are you well?"

Rory straightened. "Yes." He said, slowly smiling. "Yes, I feel lighter." Then he clapped his hands together. "Placental Abruption!" He crowed.

"What?" Calden cried, utterly bewildered.

"It's what's wrong with Tenea. Sorry about this." Rory pricked Calden's finger.

"Ow!" The boy wrenched his hand away. "Why did you do that?"

"Checking something." Rory said. "We're in luck! You're not the same blood type but you are O negative and I just happen to have some tubing I'm not using."

In minutes Rory had connected the two lovers, allowing Calden to supplement Tenea's blood supply.

"Now, Calden, I need you to be very brave. The placenta, the after birth, it has detached itself from the wall of her womb. She will bleed until both she and the baby die unless we do something. I need to take the baby out and stop the bleeding."

"You will kill her." Calden gasped. "I have seen it with livestock. The mother always dies."

"Hey!" Rory called grasping Calden's chin and forcing him to meet his eyes. "Your livestock didn't have me. I will be quick. That is her best chance. I need you to stay calm. No matter what you see, stay calm."

Calden nodded and Rory set to work.

The procedure was clear in his mind and he did not hesitate. Using his fine-tuned skills with the murderous laser in his hand, he quickly cut through the abdomen and to the uterus. He freed the baby boy and handed him to Calden where the tiny creature announced his presence to the world as loudly as possible.

Rory's fingers were sure and his mind crisp as he removed the placenta and sealed off the bleeding. Despite his speed, by the time he had closed the incision Calden was pale from blood loss. Rory took both his and Tenea's pulse and while he wished he had a few more liters of blood to spread between the two, they were both young and should recover.

"She lives." Calden sighed, one arm cradling Tenea and the other his infant son. He turned shining eye's onto Rory. "You truly are a great healer."

Rory turned away, discomfited by the boy's worshipful gaze. "Tenea may wake soon and will be in great pain. I will prepare more of the medicine I gave you after your injury. It should help."

"He is so fretful." Calden frowned at his son. "Is he ill?"

Rory smiled. "He is hungry. We are all born ravenous."

"Were Elwyna's children thus when they were born?" Calden asked, smiling.

Rory frowned. "Who?"

"Your friend, Elwyna." Calden insisted. "You were there when her babes were born, were you not?"

What worried Rory most about the boy's words was not that they held no meaning for Rory but the assumption that they would.

"I do not have a friend of this name. At least," He felt a very distant stirring and fought a shudder at the implication, "not that I remember."

"Centurion!" The boy sounded horrified. "What have you done?"

Rory smiled. "I have saved your Tenea and her darling son."

Calden burst into tears. "You have banished them from your mind." Rory had often repeated that there was 'no room' for Calden and Tenea after their arrival and they had eventually convinced him to explain what he meant. "You don't remember Elwyna! What of her children? What of Fleda?"

Rory's expression remained blank.

"Oh, ye gods what a price." Calden felt as though his heart were tearing at the seams. The kind legend who had done them nothing but good had sacrificed something of unimaginable value and it made him sick. Yet, holding his family safely in his arms he could not wish it different. "I am sorry, my friend." He wept. "I am so sorry."

"Calden." Rory said gently. "It does not hurt me. I do not know what I have forgotten. I have no memory. I would not even know what to mourn."

As Calden watched the man rose and soon disappeared into one of the side tunnels in search of his mysterious herbs.

"I will remember for you, Healer." Calden whispered, suddenly preferring the title to Centurion. This man was no warrior and that title ill-suited him. The baby seemed to burrow into the slight crevice between his and Tenea's bodies and Calden cradled his family close whispering one last time before he drifted off into a welcome rest. "I will remember for you."


	20. Chapter 20

Rory fought the urge to straighten Calden's jacket or give little Malin one last pet.

"You've everything?" He asked.

"Yes, all that we can carry." Tenea smiled. "You have been generous, Centurion."

Rory ducked his head. "S'nothing. I can't eat it. Might as well go with you."

Calden reached out and embraced him suddenly and, after only a moment's shocked pause, Rory returned the hug.

Calden finally stepped back smiling. "Thank you, friend. You have saved us, all of us."

"Many times." Tenea said, holding back tears. "How can we thank you?"

"Be safe." Rory begged. "Please be safe."

"It has been many months since we first happened upon you." Calden reassured him. "Surely my brother's men have long since given up the hunt."

Tenea was nodding. "And the village you spoke of before…" Her voice trailed off and she blushed.

"Before you sacrificed your memory of it for us," Calden continued. "as you described it, well it would be a wonderful place for us to make a life."

Rory fought back the feeling of helpless irritation mention of his memories caused.

"Again, dear Centurion, I am so sorry." Tenea cried.

"Tenea," Rory hugged her gently, careful of the babe slung across her chest. "It would have happened in time or I would have gone mad. You saved me as sure as I saved you and, think!" He smiled. "Now at least I know there was a woman named Elwyna. I have some memory of her and that is because of you."

She nodded and tried to smile.

Rory put a hand on their shoulders, holding on to them for just a moment more.

"Be safe." He repeated.

"I promise." Calden replied.

"Right." Rory said, his voice brisk. "'kay, you know the way. Stay off the roads during the day. Keep your ears open and don't take any chances. Stay on your guard until you reach the safety of the village."

Calden couldn't seem to keep from rolling his eyes. "Yes, yes. We have not forgotten the instructions you gave."

"..and gave, and gave." Tenea muttered.

"Fine. Fine, then. Off w'you." Rory said trying to sound jovial.

"Farewell, Centurion." Calden said.

"Rory." The word was out of his mouth before he registered what he was doing. "My name, it is Rory."

Calden smiled. "Farewell, friend Rory."

Rory watched them as they walked away from his dank cave and toward their new lives.

He turned and stared at the dark tear in the mountainside that was the entrance to his underground home but he paused. He decided that he would rather stay above ground and enjoy the sunset. Amy wouldn't mind if he stayed and watched the sunset. He could describe it to her when he returned and that would fill a few more moments of this endless vigil; one that suddenly, in the absence of his friends, seemed even more unbearable than usual.

He later wondered if he was staying outside to listen but couldn't admit it to himself. Regardless, he did stay out to watch the sunset and because he did, he heard Tenea's scream.

Rory ran. How long had it been since his friends left? Half an hour, an hour? How long would it take him to reach them?

Rory found Tenea first.

"Tenea!" He couldn't hear her heartbeat. He reached out to check her pulse but pulled back. She was already cooling. He looked for Malin but he was no longer nestled in his sling.

"Calden!" Rory cried, reluctantly leaving Tenea's body behind. "Calden!"

There was no answer. Rory switched his focus to smell. He turned and headed resolutely toward the unwelcome scent of more spilled blood.

If he had harbored any lingering doubts that Calden's brother had been responsible, the state of the boy's body banished them. He had been run through and then his head had been removed. You took a head when you needed proof. Rory shuddered but tuned all of his senses looking for some trace of baby Malin. He found nothing. Perhaps the brother had taken the baby with him.

_Maybe he took the babe's corpse. Perhaps a wild animal ran off with it._

"No!" Rory shouted, shaking his head against tears. "I don't know he's dead and I won't stop looking until I do."

Rory hesitated but found he couldn't leave his friends as they were.

"I am sorry, my friend." He said as he lifted Calden and draped his body over a tree limb. "I do not have time to bury you. I must find the baby." He collected Tenea and placed her in the tree with her lover and, hopefully, out of reach of scavengers. "I will come back, one way or another."

He hated to leave them there but there was still hope for Malin and he had to hurry. Rory continued the trail he had been following which fortunately led him in short order to a small camp and a welcome sound. Malin's cries sounded desperately unhappy and yet Rory had scarcely heard anything so beautiful in his long life. He watched carefully from the shadows and observed seven men; four were curled under blankets and seemed asleep. Malin had been left lying on the ground near a sack as though he were just another piece of luggage.

"Should we not try to feed it?" One of the men with a nervous, twitchy look about him asked.

"Why?" Another burly and bearded man chuckled. "It will soon be dead."

"But you said his lordship would like that we brought the babe alive. Will he not be angry if the child dies?" The first man persisted.

"I said," Beard huffed "that it might amuse his lordship to kill the child since he could not kill the father."

"Well," broke in a third, gangly man. "as I recall it were your fault the manling died. We was meant to kill the bitch…" Rory's teeth ground together "…and fetch the boy back for his lordship to kill."

"Aye," Agreed Twitchy. "You was the one what killed him."

Beard growled. "Weren't my fault! You saw it. My strike was meant for the whelp."

"And yet it stands that we should keep the babe alive. We may all face his lordship's wrath but you most of all."

Beard looked from one man to another. "Well, what should we do with it then?"

"Don't mind me," Rory said walking boldly from the shadows and plucking poor Malin from the cold ground. "I'll take him off your hands."

The men sputtered for a few seconds before drawing their swords.

"Declare yourself!" Twitchy demanded.

Malin had calmed at Rory's familiar voice and was fretfully snuggling as deep into the nook of Rory's elbow as his poor little body could manage.

"You really want to be putting those things down." He said softly. "I'm a bit out of practice I hear. Gave up my sword and swore off violence but the thing is," he paused and felt a taunt, gruesome grin stretching across his face, "I don't remember feeling that way."

"In fact," He unsheathed the sword he'd acquired from one of the sleeping men. "I can't remember the last time I felt so violent."

"Who are you?" Beard asked.

"I'm Rory. I'm a nurse. I'm a Nestene duplicate, an Auton. I'm a healer. I'm a killer. I'm immortal but not really. I'm angry. I'm so very angry. And I am sad, so desperately sad."

He sighed but continued. "But all that doesn't mean much to the likes of you because, let's face it, you lot aren't quite top of the class are you? What might mean something is if I tell you I am the Last Centurion and you have killed my friends."

It was hard to tell in the dim, flickering light of the campfire but Rory thought they all paled slightly.

"Men!" Twitchy yelled suddenly. "Alric! Theston!" He kicked at one of the sleeping figures but they did not respond.

"I took the liberty," Rory murmured and gestured to a stained knife. "of evening the odds."

The three men closed ranks and faced Rory with swords raised but expressions of horror and fear.

"Who killed the girl?" Rory asked. There was no reply.

"I will make you this promise." Rory continued. "I want you to deliver a message to this lordling you serve. If the two of you who did not slay her tell me who did, I will kill that man and leave the messenger."

"Him!" Cried Twitchy, pointing at Gangley. "It was him that brought her down."

"Fool!" Gangley cried. "You could have blamed one of the dead!"

Gangley turned fearfully to Rory, "I..I was…We were told…" Rory's expression must have convinced him that no explanation would be good enough for he dropped his sword and took flight. In an almost impossibly swift and fluid movement Rory slammed the sword into the ground, pulled a knife from his belt and sent it flying into the man's neck.

The remaining two stared at the body for a long moment before turning back to Rory who was calmly making soothing noises to the still fussy Malin.

"What is your message?" Beard asked finally.

"It is not for you to know." Rory answered, still not looking at the men.

"But," Beard hesitated, wetting his lips. "But you said you had a message for us to deliver."

"I have a message." Rory agreed and finally met the man's eyes. "But you are not my messenger." In a flash Rory had leapt across the fire and run his sword through the man's chest.

He pulled the sword free and his victim collapsed to the ground, dying.

Twitchy moaned as Rory approached him and sank to his knees.

"Here is my message." Rory began and Twitchy looked up hopefully.

"Then, you will not kill me?"

Rory's jaw locked together. "Kill you?" He asked through his teeth. "Why would I kill you?"

Twitchy did not dare to breathe.

"I mean," Rory continued, his voice raising. "all you did was hunt down an innocent family. All you did was help kill a teenage girl. All you did was watch as a man tried to butcher a newborn babe in front of his father."

Malin cried and Rory forced himself to step back and lower his voice.

"I will be clear. The only reason I spare you is because I will have it known what happened here. I will have it known who has taken charge of this child. If any seek him harm they will have to first defeat me. Do you understand?"

Twitchy nodded.

"Then go. The very sight of you sickens me."

The man scrambled to his feet and, not stopping to gather up a single belonging, fled into the forest.

Rory however carefully sorted through the men's belongings, gathering items he thought would be useful in caring for Malin. He discovered to his horror that the sack the men had placed Malin against contained his father's head. Finally, he turned and made his way back to the tree. He struggled but managed to drape both bodies over one shoulder and his Auton frame easily bore the weight. By the time he arrived at the cave Malin was desperate for food and he had to surreptitiously gather milk from one of the goats that grazed over the next hill. He realized that he would have to invest in a goat of his own and hoped the coins he'd taken from the men he'd killed would be enough.

Malin happily sucked the milk from the rag Rory gave him, was soon fast asleep and Rory put him down for the first time since gathering him up at the murderer's camp.

He dug the graves deep. For now, the marker would have to be simple branches.

He stood holding the sleeping Malin and staring at the mounds.

"I'm sorry." He said at last. "I shouldn't have let you go. I will take care of him, though. I promise I won't let anything happen to him."

He looked down at Malin. "Sleep peacefully."


	21. Chapter 21

**A/N: I haven't done an author's note in a while. I just wanted to explain something mentioned in a guest review. At this time Rory has only shut away memories twice. The first time he blanked out for a lifetime but it wasn't planned. Basically his brain reached critical mass and he created the wall piece by piece in order to save his sanity. The second time, he didn't have to build the wall. He only had to open the door and as I said in the narrative, the whole process only took a moment. So, he doesn't blank out for a lifetime every time he squirrels away his memories. That was a one-time thing.**

**Another thing that I have to address is, as a few reviewers have noticed (btw, very clever readers), I am touching on the legend of Merlin and Arthur. I hesitated to do this because so far everyone or thing/place I've talked about has been based on actual historic events. Also, Doctor Who has visited the story of Merlin before with the Doctor being Merlin. But the official timeline doesn't pick up for another two or three hundred years when Rory will somehow find himself in the possession of the Knights Templar. That's a lot of time where not much recorded history happens but a lot of legendary stuff does. So, I decided to go ahead and write a storyline involving Merlin. I took a lot of my cues from the Merlin of Mary Stewart's books but I didn't follow her vision faithfully at all. This is definitely my version and I hope you like it.**

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><p>6 months<p>

Malin was in a temper. Rory was trying to feed him some of the mashed peas and his tiny dictator was having none of it.

"C'mon, Malin. Peas! Yum!" Rory made what he hoped were happy, encouraging gestures with the spoonful. "Fresh from the garden. C'mon, now. Uncle spent a lot of time tending them so they'd be nice and yummy for you. C'mon Malin. Who's a good boy? You are. And good boys always eat their peas."

Malin finally consented to try a bite and Rory sighed with relief; then with despair when the infant promptly spit it out.

He'd be so relieved when Malin was weaned.

* * *

><p>2 years<p>

"Malin, do you need to use the potty?" Rory watched the familiar look of concentration on the toddler's face. "C'mon, Malin. We use the potty, right? Yay! Potty!"

Malin waddled up to the potty and Rory sighed with relief; then with despair as the toddler sat down on the potty and pooped merrily into his nappy.

He'd be so relieved when Malin was potty trained.

* * *

><p>5 years<p>

"C'mon Malin." Rory said encouragingly. "What sound do S and T make? Remember the blends? S and T make what sound?"

"I don wanna." Malin yelled, hands over his chest. "I tired. My head hurts. I wanna play."

"You can play as soon as we've done our reading." Rory said in what he hoped was a stern voice. "You know the rules, Malin. We practice every day and every day it gets a little easier. Now, you did this just a few seconds ago. What sound do S and T make together?"

"I don't care!" Malin cried.

Rory sighed.

He'd be so relieved when Malin learned to read.

* * *

><p>8 years.<p>

For the first time in his long vigil, the experience of raising Malin had made Rory happy he never slept. He should have become the primary care giver to a child long ago because instead of pining away the hours in each day there suddenly weren't enough of them.

Malin never failed to awaken before sunrise, generally between 5 and 6 a.m. as far as Rory could calculate. He was never sleepy or petulant when he woke but eager and excited about the day. Even as an infant and toddler Malin awoke with an energetic smile.

Rory still had a few hours. He was almost finished grinding the wheat for Malin's bread. Rory always mixed it three parts wheat and one part barley. When he'd first met Remigius hoping to buy some seed, Old Gran had told him if he mixed barley into the grind it helped to keep the bugs away. Rory also noted that Malin seemed to enjoy the flavor much more.

Rory took the small pile of powder and mixed it in his large wooden bowl adding the little dish of yeast, salt, beet sugar and water. He'd figured out how to refine his own beet sugar but the salt had to be bought. However, the sugar was a rare luxury and it was easy for Rory to find people willing to trade the few odds and ends he found difficult to make himself for a small supply of the stuff.

He also found a good market for his wooden bowls and other carved wood items. With his laser he could make precision cuts, carvings and even decorative designs. His bowls, plates and cups were always perfectly formed and smoothly polished. So much so that Hamleigh the trader had commissioned a large order that he intended to peddle on his next excursion. Rory was grateful for the extra income. As much as possible he avoided spending any small income he received, preferring to save it for Malin's future.

The boy would eventually grow up, after all. He'd meet a girl and get married and Rory somehow doubted anyone would want to grow old and raise a family in a dank cave with an old legend. He sighed, and wished he could somehow slow down time.

_What?_

Rory froze, his hands covered in the bread dough he'd been kneading.

Slow time? How many days and nights had Rory wished for time to move faster? That he could skip a century or two? And now he was wishing that time would slow down?

He glanced over to what looked like a bundle of random clothes and blankets but Rory could see the four little fingers clutching an edge. This was his little one.

_What if you had to choose?_ The voice in his head asked. The dratted alien's voice.

"No." He whispered. "That's not fair."

_But what if?_

"Stop it!" Rory hissed, covering his head with his hands, surprised to find tears in his eyes…and dough in his hair.

He finished kneading. Greased another bowl, set the dough down in it, covered it with a damp cloth and carried it over to sit near the still warm embers of last night's fire to rise. Then he walked over to the small stream and washed the bits of dough from his hands and hair.

He placed a clean but damp hand on the Pandorica and leaned his forehead against it.

"I don't have to choose." He whispered to the girl in the box. But it frightened him how hard that decision would be. He realized suddenly that he would have to choose Amy. If the Pandorica were destroyed it wasn't just that Amy would die. She would, yes, and that would destroy Rory but it would also destroy the Universe. Or, rather the Universe was in the process of being destroyed. If the box wasn't safe, the Doctor couldn't fix things. Not that Rory understood it all, he didn't. The Doctor had been popping in and out of time like a maniacal whack a mole and, of course, didn't bother to explain, well, anything. He'd just said something about Amy and memories, what was it?

"Memories are more powerful than you think and Amy Pond is not an ordinary girl; grew up with a time crack in her wall with the Universe pouring through her dreams every night. The Nestene's took a memory print of her and got a bit more than they bargained for, like you. Not just your face but your heart and your soul."

Total event collapse. That's what he'd called it.

"All of creation has just been wiped from the sky. Do you know how many lives now never happened? All the people who never lived?"

And Earth was the eye of the storm. The last light to go out. Somehow, Amy's memories had something to do with the Doctor's plan to get all those lights lit back up again.

"Your girlfriend isn't more important than the whole Universe." He'd said, and Rory'd rightly cleaned his clock for it. Maybe Amy wasn't more important than the whole Universe to anyone but Rory but she might be the Universe's only hope at being righted and that meant that whatever happened, Rory had to keep her and the Pandorica safe.

Malin stirred and Rory shook himself, wondering how long he'd been lost in thought. He glanced over and saw the dough had risen to twice its previous size. He dutifully punched it down again and set it in the iron bread pan to proof. Now, that little item had cost a pretty penny. Rory'd paid dearly for all his precious pots and pans and took great care of them.

He walked over the cave wall he'd hollowed out into a fire oven and added fuel to the flames, making sure the oven would be the proper temperature when the dough was done proofing.

Malin stirred again and Rory knew he'd be awake in the next twenty to thirty minutes. The bread would take at least another forty. He'd better milk the goats and gather some eggs to tide the boy over until it was ready.

Rory stepped out into the darkness; his mechanical eyes seeing perfectly in the strange starless night. He grabbed the wonderful waterproof basket Madge had taught him to weave from the reeds that grew near the river and thought again that he really needed to teach Malin the trick. But Rory always made teaching Malin the things other people couldn't teach him the priority. And the number one priority among those things was medicine.

When Malin set out on his own, Rory wanted him to know how to take care of himself and his loved ones. Then again, wouldn't it be wonderful if Malin settled down in the village only an hours walking distance from 'the crystal cave' as Malin had taken to calling it? Rory so often imagined what kind of man Malin would be. What kind of father would he be and to what kind of children? An image of a small girl climbing about in the little orchard Rory had cultivated brought a small smile to his face as he walked down to the small padock of goats before he shook himself.

"Getting a bit ahead of ourselves aren't we?" He muttered but with a smile. It was wonderful to have things to look forward to.

No. He stopped still as the thought occurred to him. It was wonderful to have something to live for.

Guarding Amy was something he lived for but it required nothing of him. He waited. But no one could really make an existence out of waiting, especially an existence so long as his.

He milked the goats and gathered most of the eggs, leaving a few to hatch, grabbed a few strawberries and made his way back into the cave. The bread had risen beautifully in the pan and was ready for the oven. Rory grabbed the heavy iron skillet, stirred up the small fire, set the pan atop the flames and began frying an egg.

As usual the smell was enough to wake the stirring boy and he sat bolt upright with his customary smile.

"Good Morning, Malin." Rory greeted, not being able to resist the smile that spread across his own face upon seeing his boy's happy grin.

"Good Morning, Uncle." Malin replied stretching happily. "I had the most wonderful dream."

"Come eat your eggs and you can tell me all about it before you forget." Rory said warmly.

"Eggs!" Malin pealed and scurried over to his place at the table. It was a rough creation made a bit early in Rory's career as a wood worker and he was tempted to replace it. But, it did get the job done and it seemed a bit of a waste to fell another tree when this table would do.

Malin grabbed his polished wood fork. The British hadn't caught on to forks yet and Rory dimly remembered that the Italians invented them in order to eat pasta. Pasta which had been brought over by Marco Polo from China. It'd be difficult for Polo to make that particular trip considering he had no stars to guide him in this strange version of Earth. So, Rory found he had no problem in introducing a technology that didn't exist because, when you thought about it, it really should.

Malin knew nothing of these concerns that had made the fate of the utensil in his hands so dubious as he scarfed down the eggs with gusto.

"Mmm, ishgoo." He mumbled with a full mouth.

"Malin, manners." Rory scolded.

Malin took a few seconds to finish the bite in his mouth completely before saying meekly, "Sorry, Uncle."

Rory smiled, "Good boy. Now tell me about this dream of yours. Quick before you forget."

"Oh! It was wonderful!" Malin exclaimed. "Mother and Father were there and Amy and we were all in the high meadow with the goats but they weren't bothering us. We were just lying in the clover all of us and Nimue and looking at the moon. Then, all of a sudden there were stars!"

Rory's eyebrows lifted, "Really? Stars?"

Malin nodded happily. "Yes! And they were just like you said they would be! Like the song, you know?"

"Yes, I know. I'm glad you dream of stars, monkey." Rory said, calling the boy by his favorite pet name.

Malin poured himself a second glass of milk, took a big gulp and sighed happily.

"Is there bread?" He asked.

"I'm sorry, what do you want to ask me?" Rory said, feigning confusion.

Malin sighed but said politely, "May I please have some bread, Uncle?"

"Yes, you may." Rory answered walking to the oven where the bread should be just about done. "And thank you for asking so politely."

Malin giggled.

About an hour after breakfast Malin and Rory were outside in the garden. Rory was talking about some of the different medicinal herbs and plants and how they could be used for different illnesses when a small sweet voice called out to them.

In a flash Malin was on his feet and running to the paddock to release the goats.

"Good bye, Uncle!" He called as he led the small herd down the hill to join the larger herd being shepherded by a small girl.

"Hello, Centurion!" The girl called, waving.

"Hello, Nimue!" Rory called back. "Be careful heading up to the pasture!"

Nimue rolled her eyes but smiled. "We will. We always are."

Rory let Malin get halfway down the hill before calling out.

"Malin, my lad. Are you perhaps forgetting something?"

The boy stopped short and felt around his left side and back. Nimue giggle as her friend trugged up the hill with scarlet cheeks to collect the satchel containing his noon meal.

"Don't be in such a hurry." Rory chided.

"Yes, sir." The boy smiled. Then turned and ran at what Rory thought was a dangerous pace down the steep hill.

Rory watched them make their way toward the high valley across the steam where the lushest clover fields were. Nimue plucked at the satchel which Malin pulled out of her grasp and her laugh echoing through the small valley would have reached Rory's ears even if they weren't inhumanly sensitive.

Was it really eight years ago he had reached into Tenea's womb and plucked out this little miracle child?

"Please," Rory whispered to the now tiny figure in the distance. "Don't be in such a hurry."

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><p><strong>Thanks so much for sticking with this story. Long just doesn't seem to be an adequate descriptor, lol. Thanks also for your reviews. They are very encouraging and enlightening.<strong>

**I remembered something else. Someone asked why I didn't just have Rory write a journal. That is actually something I plan to have him do later but at this point in history writing utensils and things like vellum and paper are extremely hard to come by. So, I didn't think it made sense. It's a good thought though and I do plan to incorporate it later with a little help from our favorite immortal, time-travelling human. (hee hee, spoilers)**

**Another thing (last one, I promise) is I feel like I owe an apology for having such a long empty spell of writing. At first it was because I was actually having a non-fiction article published. I wrote a paper that got presented at a couple conventions and then a peer review journal showed interest in publishing it as an article. (I was a history student...I know, you're all SHOCKED.) I submitted it and they accepted it but wanted me to revise it. If you are familiar with academia, having a sophomore paper published is a really cool thing. I revised and revised and revised and they kept asking for more. It was finally done and I thought, "Yay, I'll have time to write fiction again." But then I got sick. I got so sick and tired and just blah that I thought I'd never write more in this story again but then I was properly diagnosed, had a quick surgery and now I feel normal again. It's weird but I'd actually forgotten what that feels like. I started thinking that my 'good days' were normal and they so were NOT. So, now I'm very happy to be healthy and feeling normal again and writing more of this story is a joy again. **

**Anyway, long story short: Thanks for your incredibly patience. You all rock.**


	22. Chapter 22

12 Years

"Uh, hellooo?" A hesitant voice called, echoing down from the cave entrance.

Rory turned startled. He always went to meet the men and women of the village. He never had visitors.

"Hello?" The voice sounded a bit more confident and a bit more familiar.

Rory hurriedly ran to greet the visitor.

"Fornac?" He asked before thinking and then hurriedly tried to recover. "Fornac! What an unexpected pleasure. How may I help you today?"

The sturdy looking herder seemed to be trying to not look too closely at the damp walls of the cave.

"Just came to, uh, to offer you an invitation." He said with a shy smile.

"Invitation?" Rory asked. "From you? I mean, for me?"

Rory felt flustered. No one had visited the cave before and no one had invited Rory anywhere before, either. The general impression he got from the villagers was that they liked him alright but were still quite in awe of his legendary status and a bit afraid of him.

"Not from me," Fornac blurted. "I mean, from me as well, yes. But, but it's from the whole village."

Rory frowned, confused. "The whole village is offering me an invitation? To…dinner?"

Fornac smiled relieved. "Yes," He frowned. "I mean, no. Well…yes. Sort of."

Rory smiled and rubbed his hands together.

"You know what? Why don't we step inside, eh? I've got some dried apples and spices I use for a warming beverage for Malin on these brisk fall days. Why don't I make you a nice cup?"

Fornac looked into the darkness of the tunnel and hesitated.

"No worries." Rory said reassuringly. "I know it looks a fright from the outside in but it's really quite cozy inside."

Fornac nodded his head determinedly and Rory fought an impish grin. The man looked as though he were setting off into Mordor.

Once inside the cavern Fornac gasped.

"Bless my soul." He breathed looking around and taking in the quaint furnishings and glowing walls before his eyes settled on the focal point of the chamber, the Pandorica.

"So," Rory said briskly as he fetched water for the cooking pot. "You were saying about an invitation? Oh, have a seat."

Fornac sat at the rough table and fidgeted with his hands a bit, not seeming to know what to do with them. He finally sat on them.

"Yes," He cleared his throat. "Yes, well. I've seen Malin at the wool fair and so I know you must be aware of it?"

Rory nodded. "Malin's been mad about it." He stoked the flames of the cooking fire and checked to make sure the smoke was making its proper way through the vent he'd crafted through the stone.

"Yes, well, we took note that you did not come." Fornac said.

Rory paused. It had not occurred to him that the villagers would note his absence with anything but relief.

"I.." He hesitated, unsure what to say.

"OH!" Fornac seemed to pick up on his distress. "You need not worry that we took offense. It is just, this has been the most successful fair we have ever had."

He smiled. "Most men thought you a bit daft when you suggested shearing the goats as well as the sheep and the way you encouraged us to card and spin the wool." He shook his head. "Yet word and wool have got about and I'd wager our fair was the most sought after in the kingdom this year. Every herder and weaver in the village has been bought out completely. Buyers were fighting over the bales, each willing to pay more than the last. Traders say they are hawking our wares to kings and we owe it to you, Centurion."

Rory frowned, discomfited by the man's glowing eyes. He shook his head. "I merely showed you a new path. It was all of you who had the courage to attempt it and the diligence to put in the hard work necessary. It is to yourselves alone you owe the rewards reaped." Rory placed a steaming cup of the spiced apple drink before his guest and took a seat opposite him.

Fornac chuckled. "Perhaps you are in part aright but we still would like to offer you thanks. Now wait," He held up his hands against Rory's renewed protests. "The fair has ended and as is customary, tonight is the feast in which we gather together to celebrate the fair's success. Jenny, Hamleigh's girl, has been selected the queen of the feast and you, my friend, have been selected king."

"King?" Rory repeated, dumbfoundedly pointing to himself, "Me?"

"Aye, you." Fornac said cheerfully. "Malin is a bit young for the festivities so he'll have to cool his heels with my Nimue and their cohorts outside." He leaned in conspiratorially. "Too much wine for the little ones."

"Oh, oh yes, yes I imagine so." Rory stuttered, still a bit dazed. "Just to clarify, I don't have to marry the queen, do I?"

Fornac laughed for quite some time and eventually Rory mumbled, "It was a reasonable question."

That night Rory dressed in his best and upon looking at his reflection in the wooden tub he used for Malin's baths (a practice still frowned upon by most of the village) he decided his best could do with an update. The leggings were patched having been worn through repeatedly at the knees from all his kneeling in the garden. The reason they were his best leggings is because the patches were cut from the same dye lot. He fiddled with the frayed and patched tunic as well, trying to find some angle from which he didn't look a raggedy mess.

A thought occurred to him and he started off toward the corner but paused.

Would the Roman uniform be too much? The advantage of it was that, being made of some synthetic material Rory still hadn't been able to identify, it was as good as the day the Doctor left.

"Uncle!" Malin called from the entrance. "Hurry, we musn't be late, you're the king of the feast!"

"Coming!" Rory called, now holding the fabric in his hands. He glanced down at his frayed tunic again. _What kind of king wears raggedy clothes?_

He nodded, the decision made.

He walked a bit taller as he exited the cave, helm in hand. Malin, who had been throwing rocks and striking at them with a stick turned hearing his approach and stopped dead.

"Uncle." He breathed and Rory was suddenly afraid he looked ridiculous.

"Is..is it alright do you think?" He stammered.

"You look so…" Malin seemed to struggle for the word. "…different."

"Good different or bad different." Rory asked, needlessly straightening his cape clasp.

Malin smiled. "Good different."

"Thanks, monkey." Rory said returning the smile but Malin frowned and Rory smacked himself on the forehead.

"Malin." He corrected quickly. "Not monkey. Never monkey."

"Uncle," Malin whined. "I beg you, please do not call me monkey amidst the other lads."

Rory nodded, trying to look sincere. "Yes, I know. I won't. I promise."

Malin strode off huffing, "Why must you needs always embarrass me?"

The sun had just started to slip behind the horizon when they reached the fair grounds of the village.

"Malin!" A young voice called and a swarm of short beings hurled themselves in Rory's direction with such cries that he took an involuntary step back from the onslaught.

However, he needn't have braced himself for when they saw him in his Roman attire they all stopped short, suddenly hesitant.

"Well," Malin said looking from his comrades gaping eyes to his Uncle. "Stand not amazed, tis only Uncle." His voice conveying that Uncle could never deserve such attention.

A girl who looked to be about five years of age walked without pause to Rory and asked bluntly, "Are you a god?"

Rory smiled and shook his head. "No, nope. Not a god."

"Mother says tis so." She frowned. "Mother says you are the son of the mountain goddess and that is why you live inside her still. Mother says that is why you knew of the way to make the goat wool strong and soft because all know well that goats are creatures of the mountainside. Mother says you are strong as stone and yuw wuff a bubblw … whumumajushakinaceshu"

A flustered, blushed woman was now gripping the girl by the should with her worn hand firmly clamped over the tiny mouth hissing, "Isabeau be still!"

"Uh, uh." She stammered. "Please pay no heed to the girl, Centurion. I-I mayhap have told her a tale or two, b-but only to keep her entertained and the like. I beg your forgiveness. I never meant for.."

Rory smiled and waved away her apology. "Please don't worry on my account. I've told many such a tale to Malin."

The woman seemed relieved. "Won't you come down?"

"Thank you." Rory answered and turned to Malin. "You go with the other children and stay out of trouble."

"What?" Malin's eyes lit with indignant rage. "You would have me stay with the babies?"

"Malin, you are still but 12." Rory said firmly. "You may join the feast, you and your friends when you reach 14, for now you will wait yonder."

"Tis not right." Malin huffed. "Tis not fair!"

"Right or fair, it is the will of the elders of the village. I will not go against them and every other parent by making you an exception."

"You are not my parent and I am glad of it. I would not have such a tyrant!" Malin yelled and Rory flinched as though from a blow.

Malin looked down, suddenly ashamed.

"U-Uncle, I am sorry." He said, not raising his eyes. "I did not mean it."

"No, you are right." Rory said quietly. "I am not your parent and it is because of me they are not here. Because I did not protect them."

The music had died and the crowd had hushed at Malin's cry and now Hamleigh's wife Marquet rushed over. "Cezar, Nimue, take Malin to the games." She commanded, taking Rory's arm and leading him to the banquet table which was, in fact, a series of tables lined up together.

"Do not take the boy's words to heart." She said warmly. "Tis the way of a child to lash out and cut to the quick, merciless beasts that they are. If I knew how many times my darling Jenny had brought me to tears."

"Mam!" Jenny, the queen of the feast, blushed deeply. "Why must you needs always embarrass me?"

The familiar phrase made Rory laugh out loud and Marquet sighed.

"Come, Centurion." She smiled. "Let's get you some of that cave brew you taught us to make and I must say my thanks to you for it. My man loves nothing better than the taste of cave made beer at the end of a long day."

Rory glanced around as though some historian might pop out and scold him for introducing early Britain to pilsner.

"Em," He started. "I don't actually drink."

"You don't drink the pale stuff?" She asked.

"Uh, no. I don't. I don't actually drink anything at all." He said haltingly. Then pointed to himself and smiled in what he hoped would be a friendly, jovial manner. "Cursed, you see. Not actually human anymore, so can't drink."

Hamleigh broke into the conversation, aghast. "You mean you can neither eat nor drink? No sweet meats, no pastries, no _beer!_"

Rory tried not to laugh at the man's dismay. As the night wore on there was plenty of music, conversation and dancing to distract Rory from his inability to indulge in the impressive range of food and drink prepared but occasionally he saw poor Hamliegh shaking his head sadly at him. The more beer the man drank, the more Rory's plight seemed to affect him.

Jenny was well chosen as queen. She was light as a feather on her feet and a young man by the name of Kerin proclaimed that she must be of fairy blood. To which her father replied with a laugh, "No, she has just stolen the fairy dances." "Well," The young hot blood shouted in reply. "They are stewing with envy tonight for I swear she dances them better than any elf could." Many of the crowd cried hearty, "Here, here"s to this and Rory laughed at the girl's blushes.

"Do not you be tellin tales of the fairies!" Old Gran shouted, poking the young man with her walking stick. "They do not take kindly to that, no that they do not." The boy looked frightened for a moment and was the butt of many a joke until some other current of conversation turned attention away from him and he gratefully let it pass.

Finally, the impressive spirit of the villagers ran low and all agreed it was time to head to their beds. Rory found Malin, sound asleep in a heap of other children and managed to pick him up without waking him.

He needn't have bothered though for they were not even halfway back to their cave when a scream jerked the boy awake.

"What was that?" He asked trembling and confused.

"It came from the village," Rory said grimly and mentally cursed himself for leaving the sword he'd acquired in the cave. "Malin," He said sternly. "Go to the cave."

"But-" the boy protested.

"No!" Rory shouted. "You. Cave. NOW!"

Malin looked murderous but turned on his heel and ran in the direction of the cave opening.

Rory also turned and ran, but much faster. He found a scene full of screaming, horrified townsfolk.

"What has happened?" He asked, looking for some sign of struggle or bloodshed. "What is it?"

"Oh, Centurion!" Marquet cried. "Tis the fairies! They must ha' watched our play last night. They've taken them, all of them. They've taken the babies and left us changlings!"

Rory couldn't process that.

"What?"

"This is not my baby." A tearful young woman cried, holding out a bundle. "I know my child and this is not my baby."

Rory took the weeping child from the weeping woman and tried to hush it.

"How many are.. um, are taken?" He asked at last.

"All." Derima cried. "All the bairnes are switched."

"Switched?" Rory said blankly, then his head shot up. "Switched! Of course. Derima, you are brilliant!"

"Wha-" The woman began to ask but Rory cut her off.

"All the mothers come here and bring the babes." The women hesitated. "Quickly, quickly. Come on."

They made their way to him and Rory held the bundle he'd calmed up for all to see.

"Does this belong to anyone?"

"Cedric!" A voice cried, weeping. "My boy! My darling!" She ran to Rory and thrust the bundle she'd been carrying into Derima's arms and gratefully took Rory's bundle away.

"See!" He said, "They're all here. They've just been switched about."

In short order the children had been shuffled back into the proper, grateful arms.

"Who would do such a thing?"

Jenny asked, utterly exhausted.

"Aye, who could do such a thing is a better question, lass." Old Gran said. "No mortal, I can tell you, would ha been able to switch them round without a cry from any a child. No, twas the fairies. I'm that sure of it."

Rory grinned.

"No one will listen to an old woman." She grumbled. "And you see what comes of it. What did I say? I said no good would come of tellin tales of the fairies." She turned to Kerin and poked him sharply with the knobbly stick again. "What did I tell you? Hmm? You, my lad, are in luck they were in a jesting mood."

Rory was still chuckling at the young man's horrified expression when he reached the cave. Malin had been waiting, it seemed, on pins and needles for his Uncle's return.

"What was it?" He asked. "What happened?"

"It seems," Rory sighed. "That the village was visited by fairies last night."

Malin suddenly felt the need to examine his toes.

"Yes, for some reasons these fairies were a bit put off by the feast an decided to make a bit of trouble."

Malin still did not look up and Rory laughed.

"Don't worry, lad. They've no idea it was you and your friends."

Malin's head shot up. "Wha- Y- How did you-"

"How did I know it was you?" Rory asked. "And how do I know it was your plan? Because I know you, my boy and I can put two and two together. You should be hoping that none of the other villagers do the same. You caused an awful lot of trouble."

Malin winced.

"No books. No going up to the pasture for a week. Instead, you will have the joy of helping me turn the earth for the fall seedlings."

Malin groaned.

"Now to bed."

"But, Uncle I.."

"Bed!"

The boy turned, stomped into the cave and shouted over his shoulder. "Tyrant!"

Rory made sure Malin was out of earshot before succumbing to his laughter.


	23. Chapter 23

16 years

"Malin, your guard." Rory admonished.

"Oh," The boy adjusted his upraised fists slightly. "Sorry, Uncle."

Rory nodded in reply and feigned a low kick but when Malin's reaction was so slow he completed the kick, adjusted his hips and followed it with a high kick to the sloppy right guard causing Malin to be hit with his own fist.

"Malin!" Rory said sternly, beginning to be annoyed. "How many times have I told you? A sloppy guard is near as bad as no guard at all."

Malin heaved a sigh worthy of a martyr and replied, "But Uncle who am I like to fight who will have my training?"

"You think your training will stand you any advantage if you continue to ignore it?" Rory frowned. "You are here to learn, to train, not to daydream."

"Then perhaps I do not belong here." Malin huffed and angrily marched out of what Rory had come to call the parlor of their cave. After the now infamous wool fair, the villagers had become much more comfortable visiting Rory and Malin and much more generous with invitations to their own homes. Consequently, Rory had tried his best to make the place more welcoming.

He watched Malin making his way toward the village and considered following him.

_Give him some space._

Rory hesitated only a few seconds more before turning back inside. Lord knew he had plenty of work to occupy him.

* * *

><p>"Malin!" Nimue called, excited and surprised to see him. "What brings you to the square of a midday?"<p>

"Why, the loveliness of your dear face compelled me." He said sweetly, immensely pleased when the girl danced back with a peal of laughter.

"Charmer!" She accused. "I'll not fall for your pretty words."

"Injustice." Malin cried, placing a hand over her heart. "You'll not be charmed by my words and yet I am helpless to the charms of your beauty."

It seemed this last audacity was too much for Fornac, the girl's father. "Come now, lad." He said gravely. "Can you not see I am but a stone's throw away and have mercy?"

Malin blushed and Nimue pealed gaily, "Then we must hence in haste!"

Malin grinned and set off after her quickly retreating figure.

Fornac shook his head, but grinned as he did so before turning back to the large carding contraption the Centurion had helped him to build.

He was soon interrupted again, this time by men on horseback and his daughter's scream.

The soldiers went through each cottage of the little community, gathering every man, woman and child to the fair ground where they were addressed by their leader.

"You are quite the prosperous hamlet, are you not?" He shouted. "My name is Draygyn and I have been charged to tell you it is time to make payment to your betters."

Malin looked around at the shocked expressions on his neighbor's faces and stepped forward.

"My lord," He addressed the man, "we have already paid the tax. King Aldrin's men collected it after the fall fair."

"That is well," Draygyn responded, "or rather it would be if these were still King Aldrin's lands."

Malin's mouth dropped open.

"I see you have not heard." Draygyn sniffed. "King Aldrin lately faced his grace King Wirred in battle and was rightly vanquished. His title and all his lands and taxes have fallen to his grace King Wirred and he demands his tribute."

Not a man among the villagers could respond.

"Well?" The soldier growled.

Fornac cleared his throat, "M-my lord, we have lately purchased the seeds and livestock that will stand us through the winter." He gestured around the villagers. "As is our custom after our fair we rightly pay our taxes due our liege and spend what is needed to prepare for the next year. We do not have such a sum."

Draygyn did not reply immediately. He raked his gaze across the massed faces then he dismounted and strode up to Fornac.

"You have grown quite happy and fat on your success. All the land knows of the richness of your wool," here he dealt Fornac a vicious blow with his gauntleted hand, "and you expect me to believe you cannot pay what is required of you?"

He kicked Fornac where he had fallen and Malin leapt forward, placing himself between the soldier and the farmer.

To his surprise, the man laughed.

"Are you his boy, then?" He asked.

"No." Malin replied at which the man squinted his eyes.

"Where then is your father, young hellion? Your mother?"

Malin glanced down, hesitating. "They are dead." He finally answered.

Draygyn grabbed Malin by his scalp and threw him to the ground, his sword suddenly out of its sheath and pressed against Malin's chest.

"Is this true?" He yelled. "If you are this boy's parent claim him now or I will run him through."

"They can't." A voice called out and Malin was amazed to see Old Gran stepping forward. "Boy's parents are long since dead. What do you gain by killing him?"

The man sniffed. "Yes." He agreed. "An orphan will not do."

Then to Malin's horror the man gestured to Nimue. His men seemed to have been awaiting the gesture for they did not hesitate. Nimue screamed as they caught her up and held her fast before the horrified villagers.

"His grace, your liege does not beg of you a favor!" Draygyn shouted. "He does not ask. He orders and he does not await your fancy!"

He held out his arm imperiously and a soldier placed a lit torch in his hand.

Malin did not at that time guess what the man intended but some instinct told him to rush to Nimue's side. He lurched forward only to find himself caught and gripped tightly by iron clad arms.

"You have a fortnight to gather the money that is due him. If I return and you have naught but these stories of woe," Draygyn paused and again raked his eyes through the crowd, "then you will all burn."

"No!" Malin screamed, going mad in the men's arms but they held him fast as their leader set the torch against Nimue's skirt.

Nimue screamed and ran. The crowd parted, instinctively shying away from the flames. Finally, the grip on Malin lessened and he pulled free. He chased her down and, as his Uncle had instructed countless times, he threw her to the ground and rolled her back and forth until the flames had been smothered.

He heard the sound of hooves as the soldiers left and then steps approach. Nimue's mother cried, "Ah no, God above no! Nimue, my sweet. My darling."

"Fetch my Uncle." Malin called. "For the love of God! Someone fetch my Uncle!"

* * *

><p>Rory worked all night and well into the next day removing every bit of debris from the girl's burns. The village would be sober for some time as all had eagerly donated their liquor stores to help bathe the wounds. Finally, Rory sat back and examined her with all his heightened senses for any sign of contaminant or infection. Satisfied, he allowed himself to really look at her.<p>

Her flowing, dark hair had been taken and a sizeable section of her scalp over her right ear assured that it would never be the same again. Her thick skirts had protected her legs to a degree and they were only mildly burned. Her blouse however had been light and her right arm, torso, breast, neck and face had all sustained second degree and, thankfully only in a few areas, third degree burns.

Rory explained the immediate treatment plan. "She is very badly hurt." He said softly as her mother cried. "But Nimue is strong. She will fight and I believe that she will survive."

"My beauty." Fornac moaned. "My darling girl. What have they done to you?"

Rory didn't know what to say, so he said nothing.

He found Malin outside the cottage sitting on the chopping block hugging his knees as he always did when troubled. He did not look at Rory as he approached.

"Will she live?" He asked, his voice clear.

"I do not know." Rory admitted. "I believe that she will."

Malin did not reply and Rory finally noticed the satchel resting against the block.

"What is this?" Rory asked.

"I-" Malin cleared his throat but spoke with determination. "I am leaving. I am going to find those men and I am going to stop them."

"Malin," Rory sighed. "I cannot imagine how you feel but you cannot attack these men on your own."

"You gave chase." Malin fairly accused jumping down from his perch. "Did you not wreak your vengeance on my parents' killers?"

"It was different."

"Why?" Malin yelled, paying no heed to the crowd that had gathered in response to their raised voices. "I loved her!"

"Loved her?" Rory questioned. "She is not dead. She may yet survive."

"Do not coddle me!" Malin cried, tears spilling from my eyes. "Men with swords came and took my parents from me. Now they have taken Nimue. They must pay. They must be stopped! Why do you not stop them? Where were you?"

Rory grabbed the boy, trying to embrace him. "I am sorry, Malin. I am so sorry. I came as quickly as I could."

"No!" Malin wrenched himself away. "You are so strong. You could stop them. You could end the ceaseless fighting between the lords. Would you not be a better ruler?"

"Malin," Rory held out his hands, trying to explain.

"But you hide." Malin spit. "You hide like a coward in your mountain with your box."

Rory took a step back, confused by the rage directed at him.

"I will not be a coward like you." Malin cried and he grabbed the satchel and set off in the direction of the main road.

"No." Rory yelled, catching him up in two long strides and grabbing his arm. "Malin, I know that you are upset but you are a boy, you are my boy, and I will not allow you to throw your life away."

"Let go of me." Malin said coldly.

"No." Rory refused.

"What will you do?" Malin asked. "Lock me up? Chain me?"

Rory rolled his eyes. "Do not be so dramatic. Calm down. Take a breath and consider…"

"It is my fault!" Malin screamed. "They wanted me. It should have been me."

Rory tried to comfort him but he pulled away.

"I have considered." Malin said when had regained some control over his emotions. "I have considered all night, listening to Nimue's screams as you tended her. I am done. I will not stay here waiting," his voice caught but he continued, "waiting for her to die."

"Malin," Rory began.

"No," Malin insisted. "I can go now or I can wait until your guard is down but I will go. All you do by delaying me is decrease the chances that my plan will succeed."

Rory shook his head, "I will not, I will _not_ allow you to march away to your death."

"And what if some lord came to conscript me?" Malin argued. "I would leave then."

"I would kill them." Rory answered fiercely.

"And you can but don't you see that is the problem." Malin cried. "That is the trouble with this land, Uncle. It is full of men and women who simply want to live in peace and these butchers will not leave them be. It cannot stand. I must fight or I must cease calling myself a man."

Rory tried to think of something to say to sooth his boy, to stop him, but nothing came.

"I am sorry for what I said." Malin continued. "I know you are not a coward. I know that you must guard the Pandorica but I am not bound here." He leaned in close. "I cannot stand here waiting for her to die. If it had been your love, would you not seek vengeance?"

Rory could not deny it. He grabbed Malin close to him and fought back tears before holding him at arm's length.

"You will be careful." It was not a request. "You will not attack without knowing the field of battle nor without a sound plan of action. And.." Rory's voice and heart broke as one. "..you will come_ home_."

"I will." Malin promised, his cheeks wet. "I swear, I will return. If Nimue.." He grunted. "If she survives, tell her I will return for her."

"I swear." Rory answered.

Malin nodded and turned away. Rory watched him out of sight as the crowd that had gathered shuffled back to their homes.

Rory glanced up at the hills. He knew if he focused his vision he would be able to see the tear in the cliff side that contained the entrance to his cave but from here it looked like any other mountain. And without Malin there to bring it warmth and love, wasn't it?


	24. Chapter 24

Rory had been working day and night on a solution to Nimue's wounds. Most of the girl's burns were only second degree thanks to Malin's quick thinking but there were still areas where the skin was burned through and which would require skin grafts. The question was, how to harvest skin for the graft in this environment? With the help of the community Rory had created a medieval version of a clean room for the girl in one of the chambers of the cave. The villagers had, without complaint, carried out the less than joyous task of collecting and boiling large volumes of urine, both human and animal. Boiling the urine killed all the bacteria while simultaneously concentrating the ammonia it contained. It was an unpleasant but bountiful supply of disinfectant and the only readily available supply to which Rory could expect access.

Nimue was also fortunate to live in a wool manufacturing community. Her neighbors had joined Rory in working through many nights to create large stretches of clean cloth that were soaked in the ammonia and used to erect a tent around her sick bed in the cave, a frail defense from the world's contaminants. It never ceased to amaze Rory how selflessly and how efficiently humans could work when striving toward a common good.

_Humans? And what are you, then?_ The voice asked. Rory almost physically jumped. It had been so long since that voice had been heard. It had almost seemed to be crowded out of his mind during the long period in which he'd teetered on the edge of his memory capacity. It'd also remained silent during the wonderful years with Malin before the soldiers came.

Malin.

Rory still had had no word of him. He wondered if he ever would. He should have ignored the boy's pleadings. He should have locked him up until he'd seen sense. Even if he'd had grown to hate Rory, at least Malin would be alive to hate him.

_He's not dead yet. _

Maybe that was why the voice was back. Maybe it only appeared when Rory really, truly needed it.

Rory shook himself and almost cursed at the time wasted. Nimue needed him. He couldn't afford to spend time thinking about Malin right now. He'd have another 1,000 years to second guess that decision.

Rory knew Nimue's best chance was a procedure that placed an almost empty bag under the skin but with an injection port. The bag could then be filled slowly over a period of several weeks. As the bag increased in size the skin and soft tissue would grow in order to stretch and expand to cover it, much in the same way a woman's skin stretched to cover her abdomen during pregnancy. When the bag was big enough, Rory could simply empty the saline from the bag and cut the excess skin away, leaving a clean, minute scar that would fade in time and no exposed harvested areas. The skin could then be transplanted to the burned areas and would be large and unblemished grafts. Nimue would always have scars but this procedure would be much more cosmetic than any other and would also limit her exposure to danger.

The difficulty was the bag itself. It had to be non-biodegradable and sterile. It needed to remain inside Nimue for weeks and yet could not be something her body could break down into infectious material. The obvious choice was plastic but that substance, unfortunately, wouldn't be invented for quite some time. Rory vaguely remembered how to render rubber from rubber trees but the only place he knew of where the trees grew was the African continent and that was a bit out of range.

He knew that plastics were make from oils and began experimenting with vegetable oils. He had already managed to create a solid non-malleable plastic and was close to something he could use. It needed to be both thin and strong. He currently had a very promising sheet setting and hoped it would be the solution for which he'd been searching but couldn't afford to wait. In the meantime he needed to go ahead and get the other option of the two that'd he'd considered developing.

He heard a familiar rustling and turned to see Fornac exiting Nimue's chamber.

"Ah, Fornac." Rory smiled and turned back to the solution. "How is Nimue feeling?"

"She is…" Fornac hesitated. "Centurion. I must speak with you."

Rory stilled at the tone of Fornac's voice and turned his entire attention to the man's somber expression.

"My friend, what is it?" Rory fretted. "Is Nimue in pain?"

While the town had bent itself to the task of producing a clean environment for the girl, Rory had spent the first few days after her attack creating as large a supply of pain relieving droughts as he could. It was not ideal but he had thought it was making her pain manageable.

"No, no." Fornac rushed to assure him. "She is as well as may be. It is just, she…"

Fornac hesitated.

"What is it?" Rory urged.

"Nimue has asked me… She has already made the request of the others in the village and-and they have agreed…"

"To what? Fornac you're frightening me."

"They have agreed that they will, that is, if..when!" Fornac gulped. "…when Malin returns they will tell him that Nimue is…that she did not survive her wounds."

Rory stared for a moment, unsure if he had heard the kind man correctly.

"What?" Rory asked but Fornac would not meet his gaze. "Why? Why on earth would she want him to believe that? It would crush him."

"He already believes it." Fornac pleaded. "He left that he might not watch her death, did he not? Nimue believes…she believes that he wishes to be free and that he would not wish to be chained to her as she is, weak and scarred. Yet, if he were to find her alive he would stay bound to her out of duty."

Rory leaned forward, gripping Fornac's arms, "Fornac, believe me, Malin does not wish Nimue dead. He loves her. He does. He has loved her since they were mere children. He spoke in anger and, and, I don't know. Uselessness. He watched her assaulted and was unable to do anything to stop it. He blamed himself and sought to take action in some way." Rory sighed. "I am sorry. I am so sorry that he despaired and that it has caused Nimue grief but he will be overjoyed to learn that she has survived."

Fornac shook his head, his eyes on the floor.

"She does not believe that." He said.

"She may believe what she will, but she will see the evidence of it when Malin returns." Rory almost barked, releasing his grip and stepping back. "I will not participate in this farce. I am sorry that Nimue is insecure. I understand that she is going through something terrible, I do, but this is a plan that will end badly. It is downright infantile."

To Rory's surprise Fornac began weeping. "I do not know what to do. My girl, my sweet beauty, is hurt and maimed. I cannot bear to see her suffer any more hurt and if Malin should shun her…" He shuddered, "twould be worse than any other hurt she has yet bourn."

"He will not." Rory tried to put as much conviction as he could in the statement.

He put a hand on his friend's shoulder.

"Fornac, do you trust me?"

Fornac looked up into Rory's eyes and nodded, "With what I hold most precious in this world."

"Then trust that I know the heart of my own son." Rory pleaded. "He will not cast Nimue aside. He will not stay with her for the sake of duty. He will love her when he returns as much as he did when he left."

Fornac smiled hesitantly and nodded.

Rory grinned, relieved. "Great, now that we've derailed the Shakespearean comedy of errors-"

Fornac frowned but Rory continued on.

"-let us see if this latest batch worked out."

Rory turned back to the mechanism he had been using to stretch out the plastic sheeting he had prepared, hoping for some good news at last. To his delight and Fornac's wonderment he seemed to have finally hit upon it.

He carefully formed the sheeting into two bags secured to the porous material he was using for the port. He filled them with the saline solution and hung them up which sparked Fornac's curiosity.

"I'm filling them with a material that should be harmless to Nimue if it breaks. Yet, I'd still rather not have it break. If it can hold up overnight, it should work."

Fornac nodded. "I do not truly understand, my friend, but I trust your wisdom and now I must take my leave. The village elders are meeting at sunset to discuss how we might meet this madman's demands."

"Fornac." Rory began. "Do you…do you think the elders would be offended if I attended?"

"Offended?" Fornac asked. "They would be honored. More, they would be assured."

Rory grinned. "Then I will join you. Can you please send someone to watch over Nimue while I am gone?"

"I will send Jenny." Fornac smiled.

"Yes," Rory nodded. "Jenny is an excellent choice. She has the makings of a fine doctor or nurse."

"Then I take my leave of you until sunset, Centurion."

It wasn't until after Fornac's footsteps had faded in even Rory's hearing that he realized what he had said.

Rory had asked Fornac to trust that he knew the heart of his son. His son? But it was true, wasn't it? What other term described the relationship accurately? How was it Rory had only allowed himself to realize the depth of his attachment to the boy when that attachment had been severed.

"Malin," He sighed. "my son, please come home."


	25. Chapter 25

Malin smelled the horribly familiar stench of burned flesh as he and his companions approached yet another village. The inhabitants were gathered together over what appeared to be a grave. Upon noting the approach of Malin and his followers, a young man rushed forward, taking up an ax.

Malin signaled his men to hold back and continued forward to meet the furious youth.

"Curse you!" The boy screamed swinging wildly.

Malin braced himself then, bending back sharply under the blow, he reached up as it passed over his body and grabbed the handle. He fell backward in a practiced flip continuing the momentum of the arc. The boy lurched forward and, unable to keep his grip on the weapon, he stumbled and fell.

Malin held up a hand, "Wait, we are not those…"

But the boy was already launching himself forward again, this time with a kick aimed at Malin's jaw. Malin tossed the ax in the direction of his companions and leapt back, catching the kick at the apex of its swing, once again using additional momentum to throw his opponent off guard. The young man's eyes widened in surprise as he began to fall but grew even wider when Malin reached forward and grabbed his tunic to soften his fall.

Malin kept his hold on the tunic and yelled, "Hold, friend! We are not your enemy."

"Legor!" A voice called and Malin looked up to see a large group of men was approaching from the village. "Do not be a fool, boy. Look these men to be soldiers? Get up!"

Malin let go his grip and stood back as his companions crowded around him protectively.

"Greetings." He said when the group of men were within easy speaking distance. "We mean you no harm."

"Aye." The same man who had spoken before proclaimed. "That were clear when you caught the boy but who are you? It appears you lead these men here assembled but you are but a lad yourself else my eyes deceive me. My name is Garrick. Declare your name and your intentions here."

"I am called Merlin." Malin answered. "Your eyes are not deceived friend Garrick. I am young, 'tis true, but also determined. I seek men I fear with whom you have had dealings. They speak on behalf of their king, demanding taxes and in every hamlet I have ventured they leave behind grief." Malin jerked his head to indicate the men and youths around him. "All here have suffered the loss of one dear to them as have I. We have walked many leagues hoping to catch them up but have thus far met with only more grieved men such as we are."

Malin licked his lips.

"Tell me, it is clear you have met the same fate. How far gone are these villains we seek?"

Garrick stared, appraising Malin shrewdly for a moment.

"They are now two days gone."

"Blast!" Terrin a blond firebrand of a youth yelled, burying his ax in the ground in frustration. "Tis hopeless! We do not slack our pace! We have paused only for the briefest respite, day and night yet still they evade us. We will never catch them up!"

"Quiet, youngling." Ward, the father of the victim killed in the first village Malin had happened across growled. "I will hear your complaint when you have traveled half as far as me with all my years heaped upon your bones. If you doubt your venture turn back to your mother's embrace. As for me, I will not turn back to my wife until I may say that the men who took our child breathe no more."

The rest of the group seemed to straighten at his words, new determination in their weary eyes. Terrin glanced down in shame before pulling up the ax again, his face stone.

Malin looked his thanks to Ward, who nodded his acceptance. It was Ward, more than anyone who held the little band together yet he insisted that Malin should lead. Malin was the only one with any training in combat, he had explained. Thus, it was Malin who must lead them in battle and all things. Ward had also been the one who warned Malin to change his name. "If word should get about, and mark me boy it will, that men have taken up arms against the king's men. You do not want your true name known. Else the vengeance may fall upon those you hold dear."

Garrick and his companions had been taking all of this in and he seemed to come to a decision.

"We do not have much but share in what we have." He invited. "Come fill your bellies and rest your bones, young and aged as they may be," He nodded with a slight smile at Ward. "and take up your pursuit when dawn breaks."

Malin forced back the near irresistible desire to sleep a night through. "We thank you for your offer. Yet, we cannot afford such luxury as a night's sleep. Our quarry is mounted and our only saving grace has been our determination that we will not rest above what is strictest necessity until we have caught them."

"And what hope do you have of defeating these men, young Merlin?" Garrick asked. "Even should you catch them up, you would be untrained and exhausted peasants arrayed gainst armed and rested soldiers."

"I am not untrained…" Malin began but Garrick cut him off.

"That was clear in how you fought poor Legor." Garrick chuckled and the teenager reddened, clutching his reclaimed ax. "Can you defeat so many alone? I think not."

"I am not alone…" Malin tried again but again the big man would not let him finish.

"You do not understand me, friend." He insisted. "I do not wish you to give up your fight. I wish to join you and tell you of ought you do not know."

Malin sighed but nodded.

Garrick grinned. "Good. What you do not know is that the road winds around that." He pointed to a steep hill with a sheer cliff face. "The men you seek will be many days upon that road but there is a path that a man afoot may take that will traverse the distance in a day."

Malin's eyes lit and Garrick nodded.

"You begin to understand. You and your friends may eat and rest in safety this night and stand strong and biding in wait for these men in the days to come."

For the first time in what seemed like years Malin laughed and was embarrassed to find tears in his eyes. He tried to discreetly wipe them away.

"Be not ashamed, Merlin my lad." Ward admonished placing a heavy hand on Malin's shoulder.

Malin looked up to see tears streaming down the older man's weather worn cheeks. "Tis long since we have had such hope."

Hours later most of his men had fallen asleep where they sat, as soon as the food had filled their shrunken bellies. Yet, Malin found sleep still eluded his weary body. He stared at the fresh grave and wondered if Nimue's grave had been dug yet.

"Friend Merlin." Garrick's voice startled Malin out of his grim reverie. "How is it that you alone have not sought a bed or been carried off to sleep over your meal? I would think since you were the first to set out, you most of all would need rest."

Malin smiled sadly, "My father does not sleep and long ago I developed the habit of sleeping little." He shrugged. "It felt wrong to leave him so long alone. I suppose I am well trained at wakefulness and my thoughts are heavy."

Garrick followed the direction of Malin's gaze to the grave.

"Eryn." He breathed. "Twas her name. She was mine and not yet 15."

"I am sorry." Malin offered.

"It is strange that it should be so but I find myself comforted to be in the company of so many who know my pain so intimately."

Malin nodded.

"Who was it?" Garrick asked and there was no confusion as to what he meant.

"Nimue." Malin whispered, not trusting himself to voice the name aloud. "She was still alive when I took my leave but in agony. I – I could not bear to stay and watch. My father is a great healer but" Malin shuddered. "..but he has taught me all and I knew there was no remedy would heal her. He will try. It is his way. Still he will but prolong her suffering."

Malin finally tore his eyes away from the grave and met Garrick's. "I tried. They..the soldiers..I thought they would take me but they did not want me for I was an orphan and they took her instead. I tried to pull free. I ran as soon as I could and smothered the flames but I was too late." The weariness caught him up at last and Malin succumbed to the grief he had denied himself so long.

Garrick held him, marveling that he'd forgotten for a moment how young the boy before him was.

"Tis well, child." He murmured in the same way he was wont to do when his little girl had been unwell, hurt or heartsick. "Tis well. Tomorrow is another day."

Malin regretfully forced himself to pull away from the kind embrace that tried to pull him down into the sleep he so desperately needed. "Not for her." He hissed his eyes turning to the mountain, faintly visible in the moonlight. "And soon not for them either."

Garrick nodded. "But not tonight, I think. Get you to bed. Already your senses have left you, I think. For in one breath you speak of a father who never sleeps and another who sleeps in the grave. It cannot be both, my boy."

Malin turned smiling sleepily. "Is it not strange? I have two. My mother and father died to save my life and my father, my other father though I did not call him thus, he saved me also and brought me up. Twas he taught me to fight. He is a great fighter."

Garrick smiled. "Of a surety he is, my lad. Come," He pulled Malin up by the shoulders. "I've made a place for you. Get you to bed." He led Malin to a stack of hay covered with a thick quilt and laid him down.

"He is real." Malin murmured, his eyes closed. "I am not mad. My father is real."

"Of course he is, lad." Garrick said softly. "Sleep now."

"He never sleeps."

Garrick grinned. "I do not think he will mind that you do."

Malin smiled and slipped peacefully into oblivion.

Garrick knelt for a moment over him. "I should tie you up and send you home, boy." He said at last but then shook his head and walked across the room to finish packing his things.


	26. Chapter 26

Chapter 26

Malin observed Legor's frown and chuckled. "What troubles you?" He asked. "We are close to our goal."

"I have doubts." Legor answered with no attempt at diplomacy. "Why would they take this camp so close to the road? 'Tis hazardous. 'Tis foolhardy."

"Ah, but you forget. They are soldiers, trained fighters and armed." Malin smiled. "They are not over concerned with footpads."

He observed that Legor still seemed doubtful.

"There is also that I have followed these men many miles and have oft come across the leavings of their camps." He added a bit more sternly. "I know their ways. They are slothful and will rejoice at an abandoned camp near ready-made. 'Tis the only means of assuring they will camp where twill benefit us."

Legor sighed but nodded and continued digging the fire pit while others gathered stones to ring it. Still others were preparing what they'd come to call 'Merlin's Ring'. Malin had the unexpected wealth of three days' time to prepare a plan and train his companions. Unfortunately, a few hours had been time enough to realize that against well-armed men with any training whatsoever, many of his new friends would be lost. He had shifted his focus to the dilemma of how to kill his enemies without endangering his friends. A solution eluded him until he saw Ward preparing a torch with strips of cloth soaked in kerosene.

Malin paced away from the fire ring, counting his steps. When he was satisfied with the distance he began laying out the means of his trap.

The fire had been set and the wood burned to ash and given time to cool. They did not want the mice to be wary of their trap.

Now came the hardest part. Malin's men settled back, far into the trees around the clearing in which they'd planted their 'abandoned' camp site to wait. It was a long wait with nothing to occupy Malin's mind but the possible disastrous outcomes of his well laid schemes. What if the soldiers didn't take the bait? What if the ring didn't work? What if he weren't able to stealthily kill the lookout?

_Calm down._ He heard Uncle's words in his head. _You won't change a thing in this world by fretting over it._

Malin took a deep breath and tried to empty his mind as Uncle had taught him to do when he was over anxious.

After what seemed only a few minutes someone tapped his shoulder and he opened his eyes to see that it was near dusk. He turned toward the tapper and saw Ward point toward the camp.

The soldiers had stopped on the road and one was investigating the site. As Malin watched the scout held his hand over the fire pit and then gingerly touched one of the branch remnants before smiling and saying something to his companions that Malin could not hear. He did hear the soldiers cheer and dismount eagerly.

Malin tried to remember exactly how far the ring extended and to not worry over where his enemies set up their bundles. As the soldiers unpacked their things, they relaxed. They laughed as they cooked and ate their meal. They sang songs. For a moment, Malin doubted himself. These weren't the monsters he remembered. He flashed to the horror in Nimue's eyes as he skirts caught fire. He again heard her awful screams and smelled the terrible smell of her burning. Then wave after wave of sensation hit him as he remembered all the villages he had walked through on this journey. Ward's wife covering her mouth with both hands, forcing herself to stop crying only to have the moaning sobs sparks moments later. Malin's grip tightened on the hilt of his sword, all doubts banished.

The sun slipped further and further behind the hills until the last rays disappeared. There was no moon and the darkness surrounding him was so complete he couldn't see Ward's face though the man knelt shoulder to shoulder with him.

He did, however, feel the older man place his hand on Malin's shoulder and squeeze. Ward was right, it was time to go.

The only sword his company had was an ancient looking thing belonging to Garrick. The old farmer had been a soldier before he met his lovely Gwendolyn it seemed. A bit of care had given it a wicked edge and the balance was good. Malin's mind flashed through all of the many training regimens he had endured at his Uncle's insistence, hoping that the knowledge would not desert him at the pivotal moment.

_You're stalling._

His Uncle's voice proclaimed, though gently.

Malin nodded and though none saw the gesture it lent him strength. With near perfect stealth he edged out of the tree line and crept toward the dim light of the campfire.

There were two men stationed on sentry duty. It was a good system. If one fell asleep the other could wake him and if one were attacked, the other would raise the alarm. Malin must be quick. He could not hesitate a bit.

The men were facing different directions, each keeping watch over a different expanse of blackness. One had taken a seat, leaning against his saddle. His companion would occasionally call to him softly to assure he was still awake but they lacked discipline and Malin hoped it would be just enough of an advantage.

He went for the sitting man first. Each step was an eternity but silent as the grave. He had the razor sharp dagger in hand. His hands flew simultaneously. By the time his left hand had completely covered the man's mouth his right had cut through his throat. Malin felt his stomach turn as the blade scraped against vertebrae but he held firm. One thing Malin hadn't accounted for was the spray of blood. It arched out with enough force to be audible.

"By my mother's sour teat!" The other sentry called in hushed but angry tones. "Can you not step away to relieve yourself, you slack jawed fool?"

Malin's brow was awash with sweat but he lifted his voice in as good an imitation as he could manage of the dead man, "Gods Harrow! Leave me to my business."

"Watch yourself, young jack a nape!" Harrow said at near normal volume. "Or you'll learn an unpleasant lesson ere this night end."

Malin said no more and soon heard Harrow's sullen. "As I had thought."

Malin sighed, suddenly grateful for all the time he'd had to lie in wait listening to the men bicker. He paused a moment hoping the trembling would pass. It did and yet he suddenly found moving forward much harder. When he had approached the corpse at his feet he had been afraid but of an unknown thing. Now that he had killed a man he found he dreaded doing it again.

He closed his eyes and thought of Nimue, then opened them and moved silently across the plain. He dared not even breathe as he crept behind Harrow. His hands struck their mark and the broad man slumped back against Malin with a sickening gurgle but was soon still.

Malin found the outer edge of the ring and first walked the length of it to assure himself that none of the men had laid out their beds across it. When he was satisfied he put his knife away and pulled out one of his most prized possessions. Uncle had given it to him for his twelfth birthday. His very own fire piston, that was what Uncle called it.

It was a metal bolt with a somewhat shallow hollow end and hollow metal tube into which the bolt fit perfectly. When Malin placed a bit of tender in the hollow end of the bolt and then the bolt into the tube forcefully and quickly, the tender lit as if by magic. Uncle had explained it was not magic but merely a trick of science. Forcing the bolt into the tube, he said force all of the air into a much smaller place, something he called compression. And this compression caused the air itself to heat greatly and light the tender. Holding the device Malin felt an almost urgent longing for Uncle but consoled himself. Soon, his work would be done and he could go home.

He fitted the bolt and slammed it into the tube. The bolt came free again with a cheerfully glowing ember that Malin dropped onto the ring. Instantly, flames appeared and spread. They leapt along the kerosene soaked ground encircling the camp.

When his companions saw the flames they crept quietly from their hiding places and Malin joined them as they encircled the burning ring, waiting for the men to awaken and seek their escape.

Malin had hoped to disorient his enemy and force them to injury but he never expected what he witnessed. The wind had not seemed overly strong to Malin but it drove the flames and black smoke Westward and across the encampment. Soon several of the soldiers had been engulfed without having wakened. It seemed they had choked on the fumes before the flames took them but it could not be so with all of them.

The lucky men who had chosen to camp on the eastern side of the camp managed to wake. They coughed and swore, the flames high and completely surrounding them. They scrambled this way and that for a moment, looking for some clear path but did not find one. Finally, the leader, still barking orders grabbed one of his subordinates and threw him into the flames, leaping out of the circle in the momentary window this afforded him while his human bridge writhed in agony.

Malin grimaced in disgust and anger screaming, "He's mine."

Distantly his mind noted that the survivors in the ring had not failed to notice their captains escape and had set to fighting each other, trying to mirror his method but Malin's true focus never left the Captain. He rushed screaming across the green, Garrick's sword in hand.

The leader jerked in the direction of Malin's scream heaving a broadsword. The flames set the shadows in his face dancing and he gleamed wickedly.

"Shall ye come at me boy?" He chuckled. "Conjure flames to take me and ye fail. Slay all my boys with your dark magic but come at me with but a poniard? Of a surety, you seek an early grave and I shall oblige you."

Malin almost rushed the man, almost. _Do not be in such a hurry._ Uncle's voice sounded in his head. _Think. Consider. Plan. Win._

Malin grinned. "Nay, old dotard!" He cried. "I seek your death for I will suffer you no grave, no memorial. You shall burn, bastard that you are, and I shall throw your ashes to the four winds!"

The grin vanished from his opponents face and with a scream the soldier's broadsword swung up for a full armed chop. Malin grinned, ducked and feinted at the man's exposed belly. As he had expected, the soldier twisted his wrists, bringing his heavy sword down in a clumsy arc to intercept Malin's deadly jab. The soldier had a moment, a single moment of security and had started to take a step backward, no doubt hoping to use Malin's forward momentum against him but then he felt it.

The knife's edge that had taken two lives already that night slipped between two ribs and sank into the hated man's black heart. Malin watch the eyes dart down to the hilt and when they rose to Malin's face again there was no anger, no hate, only confusion; as though he died unable to believe the boy had really killed him.

Malin fell with the corpse, still holding the knife. Part of him couldn't believe it was over and so quickly. He knelt over the dead man's empty eyes and seemed as confused, as unable to believe the events that had just transpired.

Eventually, he felt a hand grasping his hold over the knife.

"It is done, boy." Ward was murmuring. "He is dead. They are all slain and we all live. Come away."

Malin released the hilt and rose mechanically.

"What ails you?" Ward asked, concern written over his features.

"I think I have the cause of it." Garrick said sadly and grasped Malin's chin, forcing him to meet his eyes. "Twas ever your plan to kill these men, my boy, but I think unbeknownst to you in waking thought, you had no plan to survive."

Tears stung Malin's eyes as the truth of Garrick's words sank in.

What now? What should he do? Go home? To what? Yes, it would be wonderful to see Uncle again and to sleep in his own bed in his own strange world of caves and Uncle's magic, science. But Nimue…Malin had thought he had grieved her loss but he had not yet allowed himself to imagine life without her. He realized that he had merely grieved her suffering and the manner of her death. The true nature of it. The immutable fact of her eternal absence from his life had not struck it's cruel blow till now.

How many days had he gone to the good pasture with her? How many fairs had he spent by her side? As long as he continued chasing the soldiers, he did not have to think of anything after. He did not have to ask what he would do with the rest of his life without her. As far back as he could remember, in his mind, when he imagined his future it included her. And now…

"She's dead." His voice rasped. "Oh god. She's dead. What do I do? How… What do I do?"

"Ah, lad." Ward choked and held Malin in a firm embrace as he sobbed.

Malin wanted to stop but he could not. He remembered Garrick's wife and finally understood her seemingly unstoppable and unending mourning.

"Nimue." He cried into Ward's shoulder as Garrick placed his hand on his back.

"_Nimue!"_


	27. Chapter 27

Rory had readied the room and was now scrubbing himself clean carefully. He had not noticed any sort of wearing thin or wearing out in his plastic skin though the Doctor had said he wasn't indestructible.

Whenever possible Rory avoided thoughts of what might be lurking under his human façade. It didn't do to think of such things. Those thoughts led to others. They led to questions like, _If we do make it, Amy and I, and the Doctor revives her and sets the Universe right. Will what has happened so many times with some many people I've loved happen again? Will I watch Amy grow old and die?_

Rory shuddered so violently Fornac noticed.

"What ails you, Centurion?" He fretted.

"Nothing, nothing." Rory tried a shaky smile. "Just me…being me. You know." He tapped his forehead with a dismissive grin. "Not all there."

Fornac was clearly not fooled by the attempt at levity but nodded in acceptance.

"As you will." He sighed, then hesitated. "Centurion, you … you can confide in me. You need not carry all of your burdens alone."

Rory was touched by his friend's concern but shook his head no. "It would do no good to burden you." He said. "I fret over things that will come to pass a thousand years hence. In truth, it does me no good to think of them now. It is just, sometimes I cannot help it."

Fornac sighed and nodded.

Rory smiled, trying to lighten the mood as he got down to business. "So, do you know what you're meant to do?"

Fornac frowned in concentration and recited, "I put the mask o're her mouth and nose and watch the device. If it should do more than drip but once a fifteen count I tell you. If it should pour I push it away and tear the mask away as fast as can be. I hold my finger o're her lifes blood in her neck and tap a foot for every beat."

Rory nodded and prompted, "And when you weary?"

"When I weary Magnus shall step in while I rest."

Rory smiled then looked about and frowned, "Where is the boy?"

"Jenny is bathing him." Fornac grinned. "When last I saw him he was a desolate creature indeed."

* * *

><p>Rory stepped out of Nimue's clean room and removed the sterile garments her mother had made for the operation before going to the cavernous room he and Malin had shared. Fornac was sleeping in Malin's bed, his feet dangling off the end in a way that foreshadowed aches and pains in the herder's back. Nimue's mother Kara, however, was standing by the Pandorica. He couldn't be sure, but it looked as though she might be praying.<p>

Rory cleared his throat and she jerk about to face him.

"What is the news?" She asked. "Does she live?"

Rory smiled. "Yes. Yes she lives. It is still soon to say. In my old life I would say she is in recovery but she seems to have tolerated the procedure well."

"And," Kara hesitated, "is she whole?"

Rory nodded. "I was able to make a small lateral – uh, I carefully cut out the bags that had caused her skin to stretch and grow." Kara grimaced slightly and he could see her visualizing the disfiguring lumps that had slowly grown on her daughter's shoulders over the last few months.

"I took the extra skin and carefully cut the exact pieces needed to make her whole. I also joined them together carefully. I matched the tone and texture of the skin as much as possible and used many, many small stitches. In a few years' time the marks on her shoulders will be barely visible as well as many of the places she was burned. She will always carry scars but they will not be disfiguring."

Kara placed her hands over her mouth and nodded, tears spilling from her eyes.

"Thank you." She whispered, clutching his hands and kneeling down in front of him. "Oh, thank you, Centurion."

Rory's eyes bulged in horror and he quickly lifted the woman to her feet. "No. No kneeling!" He said in a surprisingly scolding voice and before he knew what he was doing he'd pointed his finger in her face and barked, "Stop that."

Fornac woke with a grunt. "Whassit?"

"She will live!" Kara cried running across the room, her joyous proclamation echoing around them. She launched herself at Fornac with such force the bed's frame broke and they landed on the cave floor with a sound that made Rory wince.

Fornac listened carefully as Rory repeated his news and then apologized repeatedly for the broken bed.

"Please don't trouble yourself." Rory plead. "The cot was too small for Malin. When he returns, he will finally have a bed in which he can stretch out. I did not anticipate him growing so tall so fast."

Rory noticed that at the mention of Malin, Kara looked down, avoiding Rory's eyes.

"Kara?" Rory asked. "What is it?"

"What?" Kara asked, her demeanor a bit too innocent.

Rory spoke not a word but his frown communicated volumes.

"I- I-" Kara began but then stopped, looking desperately at Fornac.

"What is it woman?" Her husband asked, his innocent confusion not feigned. "Why, you are acting like a child caught carrying away the honeycomb. What is it?"

"Nimue had begged me." Kara's words suddenly tumbled from her mouth. "I still did not know. She was here and in an unnatural sleep and he, the Centurion himself had said she might not ever wake. I-I thought only for the best."

"Kara." Rory began to suspect but did not want to believe it.

"I told him." Kara cried. "He came to the village as you and Fornac were ministering to Nimue. M-Malin. He returned and I did as Nimue had asked me. I – I told him she was dead." She could not meet Rory's gaze. "The rest did as well. We kept our promise."

Rory tried to absorb the information and shook his head.

"No, doesn't matter." He said softly, and then smiled. "I'm sure it hurt him but he will soon learn she is alive. I will tell him when he comes back to the cave. It will all turn out alright."

"But, he left." Kara blurted. "He was distraught and angry and there were men with him. They were mounted and, at first, we had thought it was the soldiers returning. But Malin said they were dead. He and the men with whom he travels killed them all."

"No." Rory shook his head. "No, he would not leave without seeing me. He wouldn't."

"He left a message." Kara almost whispered. "He said to go to his father's grave and tell him he could not close his eyes as he did. He turned to the many men with him and said that they were gathering an army to tear down King Wirred and his butchers. That he would avenge Nimue's death." She looked up. "His men wanted to tarry but he refused and they left. They rode of hours agone."

Rory understood the message. Malin did not wish to expose Rory or the Pandorica to the outside world. His presence near the village was a secret all had kept. Malin did not want men seeking out Rory's resting place.

Malin also seemed possessed of the notion that Rory was hiding away, refusing to make the people safe. Rory suppressed a shudder. Malin still thought him a coward, hiding away in a mountain.

"Have you any idea what you've done?" Rory asked; his voice low.

Kara shivered but still lifted her chin. "I kept my promise to my child."

"And what of my child?" Rory shouted and turned away.

He stood with his back to Kara and Fornac.

"Go." He said finally, his voice hollow. "I will care for Nimue but … but you will go. Now."

Fornac silently took his wife's hand and led her away.

"But.." She began to protest but Fornac shushed her and continued to pull her away silently.

As they walked from the cave they heard a howl that was equal parts anguish and frustration issue from deep within the tunnels.

Kara started to turn back but Fornac grabbed her hand and held her fast.

"Have you not done enough?" He hissed.

"What?" Kara seemed aghast. "I kept my word. You swore also to protect our daughter."

"I made that promise when all hope seemed lost, when I thought she could not long survive."

He stopped and frowned at her. "Do you not see what our promise has wrought? The Centurion has done all to save our daughter and he has. He has saved our child when no other could and how have we repaid him? How have you repaid him, my love?"

Kara gulped.

"He saved your child. He cured her hurt and in return you have grievously wounded his and driven him away."

Kara began to cry and Fornac pulled her close.

"She has been so ill and I.." Kara sobbed. "I am her mother. I should protect her and care for her and I have been able to do nothing! Nothing! I could not help her. The only thing I could do is keep my promise."

"I understand, my love." Fornac murmured. "I too have felt powerless. I believe I would have done the same."

"Still, the look in the boy's eyes." She said. "As he rode off I knew. I called to him. I wished I could take it back but it was too late."

"Shhhh." Fornac murmured and began to lead her toward the village again. "All may yet be well in time."

* * *

><p>Nimue quickly recovered. Within six months her scars had faded significantly. She was able to resume her task of taking the goats to the good pasture and she never failed to stop at the Centurion's cave.<p>

In the days following her surgery, the Centurion had withdrawn from contact with the village. He had been polite but distant and he no longer sought out anyone's company. With Malin gone, he had no reason to trade. His gardens withered and died. One night the villagers looked out to see flames on the mountain. Many ran to help but found the Centurion standing calmly by what appeared to be an orderly, yet large bonfire.

Nimue remembered the story as her father had relayed it to her.

He, Hamleigh and the others had queried the surprised legend who had apologized sincerely.

"I had not thought it would concern you." Rory said. "I am far from the village. There is no danger to you."

He father had been aghast, "Centurion it is for you we were concerned, not the village."

The Centurion's genuine surprise had cut sharper and more deeply than any words of anger.

After assuring them that he had the blaze under control he urged them to go back to their beds. Her father told her that Malin's bed was still discernible in the flames as was the big table.

While Nimue was first recovering, the Centurion checked on her regularly. He was always very caring, very gentle but he was not as he had been. It was nothing you could pin down. He was polite. He smiled but there was… nothing there.

Nimue knew it was her fault. She had been so stupid. She had driven Malin away because she couldn't stand the thought of seeing him cringe at her skin. She had crushed him and the Centurion because of her vanity.

Malin was gone and though he was still in his cave, so was the Centurion.

Nimue couldn't bring back Malin but she thought she might be able to bring back his Uncle.

This is what was she was thinking as she approached the mouth of the cave. She only hesitated for a moment before entering.

"Hello, Centurion." She said brightly. "I've come for the goats."

The Centurion didn't respond immediately. He stood in the now empty room facing the mysterious large box.

"Centurion?" Nimue called again. "Goats?"

His head turned in her direction though not enough to see her. "Nimue."

"Yes." She chirped. "It is me."

He turned to face her. "Why have you come?"

"The goats." She smiled. "I came for your goats."

"I no longer keep goats." He frowned.

"And yet they linger." She smiled. "I think mayhap they like you."

The Centurion did not return the smile.

"Do you come for them often?" He asked.

"Everyday." She nodded. "But today they are gone."

The Centurion nodded too, his eyes downcast. "Everyone leaves in the end."

Nimue blushed. "Not everyone. I am still here."

He looked up at her. "Yes, you are. You should not. I have come to think…to believe I am not a force for good. I want to do good and yet all has gone wrong. I did not save Malin's parents. I did not protect Malin." He sighed. "I did not protect you, Nimue. Malin is right. I am a failure. I sit here in my mountain hiding from the world until it reaches its end. I do no good in the world of men. I should stay away."

Nimue felt her eyes water. "No." She insisted. "No, you are not a failure. You saved me when no other could. What you wrought was a miracle."

"Please." The Centurion begged softly. "Please leave me alone."

Nimue stood for a long moment, unsure what to do.

"No." She said finally. "No, I will not. I should not have asked them to tell Malin I was dead." He flinched at the name but she rushed on. "It was a stupid thing to ask. What you ask of me? To leave you here to bask in your lonely misery? That is also a stupid thing to ask."

"You had your request granted." He fairly pleaded but there was an edge of bitterness in his voice. "Why will you not grant my request?"

"Because!"She yelled. "I have caused you misery. My request has hurt you and I will not hurt you any further. You are going to the pasture with me today. We will speak of the goats and of good memories or the stars or the time lord. We will speak of anything that brings you peace and joy. You are coming with me." She crossed her arms and prayed her anxious fear and doubt did not show. "Now."

For a moment she thought she had failed but then he looked back at the strange, stone box glowing faintly green in the light of the caverns shinning walls. He turned and nodded.

"Lead the way, my lady." He said with a bow. "I follow."

Nimue smiled victoriously.


	28. Chapter 28

Malin's horse again tried to move forward but Malin reigned the war mount in. The horse wasn't the only anxious one, either. Malin looked over the lines of his men as they stretched out of sight in both directions. Thousands had appeared as if my magic over time, all following trails of rumors that led them to his door.

When Malin had set off from his village his group already numbered over a score. After they had defeated the squad they'd hunted so faithfully, they all insisted on seeing their captain safely home. When Malin's hopes had been dashed and his fear that Nimue had succumbed to her wounds had been confirmed an irrepressible rage had taken hold.

That night he had announced to his friends his plan to gather a force and hale down the king. He'd ranted about their lost loved ones, taken is so cruel a manner. He'd railed against the constant battles and wars fought by the petty tyrants who robbed villages of their young men and sent them to kill each other. And why? To fuel their own egos?

"We need a king over the kings." He'd insisted. "Someone to whom the others must needs be accountable and who can meet out justice for the common folk when they o're step themselves."

"And how do we accomplish this?" Garrick had asked.

"First, we take down Wirred." Malin had stated. "We hold his lands and armies. We build our strength and seek out other lords, good men, to join their strength to ours. When our might is sufficient, we take the other kingdoms. We choose a king to rule over all the lands and appoint just lords to rule the kingdoms. We unite the land into one rule. No more battles. No more conscripts. No more men howling at our doors like wolves and murdering our wives and children. We will have peace and with it prosperity."

"These are fairy stories." Legor had insisted. "'Tis impossible."

"Mayhap." Ward had agreed and Malin's heart had sunk for of all the men in his company, he valued Ward's the most. "Yet, if you had told me a month agone that we few farmers and peasant folk would have defeated a troupe of armed king's men with nary a drop of our blood shed." He had shrugged. "I'd ha hailed you as a troubadour or a liar."

He'd stared at Malin in silence and soon all eyes had followed his. They surrounded the boy, imprisoning him within their communal gaze.

"Lad," He'd said. "You've proven you value our lives. The greatest danger you claimed as your own and all your plans strove to protect we men as much as slay our enemies. Tell me truly, do you think 'tis possible for us to change the fate of our lands?"

Malin had swallowed. "I cannot promise that we will all live to see this new land but I believe in my soul that it is possible. That the people can can rise up for their own benefit and stop the constant wars that rob of us our lives and happiness. May God prepare whatever horrors you may devise and strike me down with them if I speak anything but the truth now. I swear I believe it is possible."

He had turned his gaze steadfastly on Ward. "I can do this. I must. Please help me."

Ward had nodded and soon other heads were nodding as well.

Malin shook himself out of his reverie. He had no time for memories of nearly six months past. Six months? Was it really only six months ago? He looked again at the mass of men around him.

Word had spread so quickly and so many had rallied to the rebel army's banner. As new men arrived they were immediately assigned to a lieutenant for training. Malin would train the lieutenants in the morning and once they had mastered whatever move, trick or tactic Malin taught them they would go and drill their subordinates until all were proficient.

Malin's first fear was how to feed the men but in every village there were donations of not only prepared food but of raw materials. The rebel army had a following of boys and women herding flocks of cows, goats, sheep and even wagons of hens. The army had become a mobile village.

Malin had insisted that the camp followers also be trained in combat and though most were hesitant it was soon apparent that several of the women were much better fighters than many of the men. There had been quite a bit of muttering when Malin had put forth the idea of bringing them into the ranks but it did not have a chance to disrupt the order of the march as all of the women approached had refused. Adra, one of the prospects had pointed out that the men would not trust her ability and would waste their time trying to protect her. But Malin had argued that once the men had trained with them and seen their skill they would accept them.

"Merlin," Adra had smiled, shaking her head as though at a particularly thick child. "You cannot undo centuries of custom in a fortnight. Mayhap one day, but today we must fight and the men are not ready. If you force the issue, it will do more harm that it will good. Besides, someone must care for the wounded."

That had inspired Malin to add an hour of medical training to their and his schedule. One way or another the camp followers would be an invaluable asset to the campaign.

Now here they were. Malin looked about him again; he couldn't seem to stop himself. There were the men he'd gathered to him to fight this fight and many of them would never see tomorrow. He fought the gnawing doubt.

"Sir!" Briand called, riding up on his chestnut charger. Malin managed to suppress the smile that always strived to come to his lips when he saw the boy riding his massive steed. Briand had been one of the boys among the camp followers and had eagerly accepted a chance to be one of Malin's lieutenants. Despite his age and small size, Briand was a brilliant fighter and, even better, had a brilliant mind for tactics on the move.

"Briand, what news have you?" Malin greeted.

"Sir, King Wirred's men are approaching in force. Lieutenant Ward bid me inform you they have been spotted on the left flint."

"Flank." Malin corrected and the boy blushed.

"Yes, sir. Merlin, sir." He stuttered. "I meant flank, sir."

"Enough sirs, Briand." Malin sighed. "Merlin is fine."

The boy grinned impishly. "Yes, sir. Sir Merlin." Then before Malin could reprimand him further, he galloped away.

Malin watched as the line of soldiers broke over the top of the hill like a wave, the sun glinting off their weapons with a wicked beauty. He took a deep breath and finally let the charger leap forward. He rode down the line.

"These are our brothers!" He called. "I must give them a chance. If I should fall, follow your sergeants and lieutenants. Remember your training but more, remember the love of your families, the warmth of your beds and do all that you can to return to them! We will live free of fear and undeserved torment! Today we create a new world!"

The roar of the men as he spurred his horse toward the enemy line was deafening and gave him courage. This was most likely a stupid mistake that would cost him his life but he could not cut these men down without giving them a chance. In different circumstances he knew any one of his men could have been conscripted into Wirred's army. He had to do this.

"I desire words only!" He called as he rode what he hoped was a safe distance from the enemy line. "Men of Essex! We are not your enemies. We are your countrymen, your brothers and your fathers. What loyalty do you owe Wirred? The kings of these lands have told you that they are appointed by God. And yet, do they not fight each other? And do they not tell you that God approves? That God choses the victor? That they are God's instruments? Well, I say to you how should God approve of murder? Of violence against the innocent? I tell you God does not want this and that is why, if He has sent anyone at all it is us! To hail down these pretenders and in their stead place men of true Godly justice! I know what you have heard. That I am the son of a devil. I am no such man. I am an orphan because of the bloodlust of kings but my father while he lived was flesh and blood. I seek to stop this evil. I seek to protect our wives, our children and you! You who were stolen from your families and forced to fight and kill for your lord's vanity and pleasure. Join me and you will be free to go home! Who will join me? Who?"

A single voice rose up in a wordless cry and Malin jerked in the direction of the noise.

A soldier had begun to sprint forward from his position near the midst of the enemy force toward the line.

"Stop him!" A knight on horseback called. "Cut him down!"

But it was too late. The soldier was a spark and now the entire enemy army was alight. Malin looked on amazed as it seemed to boil. Hundreds, perhaps thousands of enemy soldiers surged forward toward Malin and his men. But many more turned on the deserters, following their commander's orders. As Malin watched the man who had cried out, the man who'd lit the flame, was struck down by a wicked blow from behind.

Malin howled with rage and his horse needed no other incentive. He pulled free his sword as he charged the enemy, his eyes focused on the soldier who'd struck the cowardly blow. There was a roar in his ears echoed by the roar of the armies surrounding him. He realized that his force was charging behind him, screaming their desire to enter the fray.

Malin reached the line and swept his sword down, cleaving the shoulder of a loyal man who had disarmed one of Malin's new followers. Malin thought he saw the newly minted rebel bending to reclaim his weapon but he was already too far behind. Malin barreled over enemies, still intent upon the murderous wretch but as he watched one of the turncoat king's men cut him down.

Malin howled in frustration but turned his attention to the mounted knight. His position on his charger and his armor gave him an advantage that only Malin and his other mounted men could hope to match.

Malin slammed his less overburdened mount into the knights charger and the poor animal went down with a scream. The knight floundered, trying to regain his feet but prevented by the weight of his armor. Malin pulled back on his reigns and with only a slight pang of conscience, trampled him where he lay. He drove the sight from his mind as he concentrated on the battle. Men who had backed away from the mounted skirmish now clamored around him and the world bristled with blades.

Malin set about him with his own sword, the countless hours spent training with Uncle driving his sword more than conscious thought. But it was not enough. A blade snaked through his defense and raked viciously across his ribs. He grit his teeth, his arm never slowing but could not suppress a cry as the pain flooded through him. His arm slowed and he saw, too late, another blade cutting a deadly arc to his exposed abdomen.

He flinched, trying to prepare himself for the pain but it didn't come. A voice screamed as the blade was dashed away by another. Malin deflected more attacks as the person he could not see, the person who had saved his life took up a position at his back.

Despite the pain, Malin grinned fiercely. The sea of blades was thinning. No longer did a new man immediately replace the ones he cut down. He called out, "Forward! My friend! We must push forward to the king!" He heard a reply though he could not make out the words. But when he nudged his horse forward his shield mate followed.

The horse bounded forward toward the monarch but Malin saw another line spearing it's way ahead. Ward was charging forward on foot. He must have lost his mount. The man was bloodied but determined as he cut a path toward Wirred.

Ward reached Wirred first; his men fell on the king's personal guards with bloodthirsty screams. Malin fought forward but some soldier of above average mental ability stabbed, not at Malin but his mount. Malin could not block the blow and was soon tumbling to the ground. When he regained his feet he saw that the man at his back was no man at all but the boy, Briand. He'd now dismounted and was again taking up his former place at Malin's back.

"To Ward!" Malin screamed as he barely managed to turn away a blow and countered with a deadly upswing. "We must help him!"

"I hear you!" Briand screamed, his voice as high in pitch as a girl.

They fought their way forward and Malin heard Ward's howl as he pressed through to the king. Malin reached the kings guards and shouted for Briand to leave off protecting him and join the attack. He caught a blow high and pushed forward throwing his assailant off balance, a trick that very rarely missed its mark. The man floundered back and Malin drove his blade in and out of his neck. He leapt forward the crumpling form and was now within feet of Wirred but Ward reached him first.

Ward roared and brandished his blade at the king's steed. The animal reared up on its haunches and the king fell unceremoniously to the blood churned mud below. His men bought him enough respite to regain his feel. Ward was driven back but Malin saw an opening and sprang forward. The king turned in time to see him and raised his blade. Malin's momentum could not be arrested and was driving him helplessly onto the steel when with a shout Ward slammed into the king knocking the blade aside.

Malin stumbled forward and turned desperately expecting a blow but Wirred only stood, his eyes bulging in fear.

"It's you." The man choked. Then, to Malin's amazement, the king threw down his sword and sank to his knees. "Do not take me!" He screamed. "Foul spirit, do not take me down to Hell!"

Malin fought back the shock of so strange a turn of events and grabbed the kneeling man by his collar.

"Bid your men throw down their weapons!" He shouted.

"Cease!" The king screamed. "Stop your fighting! Put up your weapons!"

Like ripples in a pool, peace spread through the bloody field as man after man paused hesitantly, their swords still raised for an unexpected blow but no longer offering any harm where harm was not threatened.

The sudden silence after the clash of metal and the screams of battle pressed in on the survivors and added to the slowly growing belief that it might actually be over.

Malin placed his blade to the king's throat and the man screeched.

"Please, spirit! Please forgive me! Please don't drag me to the depths!"

Malin blinked, still trying to process the transformation of the fierce fighter from moments before into the cowering wretch before him. He had a sudden, impossible thought.

"Who am I?" He asked.

The king gulped. "You…You are the shade of my brother, not aged a day. Come back to wreak vengeance for your murder and that of your wife and babe."

Malin's eyes were colder than the steel at Wirred's throat. "Who am I?" He repeated.

Wirred gulped. "You are Calden of Essex."

Malin's hands went numb and he felt the king's mail shirt slip from his fingers. Wirred collapsed to the ground but grabbed at Malin's legs begging. "I know not how you have stepped from the Spector of my dreams into the waking world but please, please do not drag me down to the depths. Please, please show mercy."

Malin backed away and called to one of his fighters, "Gag him! Bind and gag him and take him to my tent to await his fate."

The soldier who'd heard all that had been said hesitated.

"He is overcome at his defeat. I am no spirit unless spirits bleed." He held up the hand he'd pressed to the gash along his ribs and showed the man the bright red blood.

"Satisfied? Now take him!"

The soldier nodded and began ripping away part of his uniform to use as a gag on the now incoherent Wirred.

Malin shuddered with the impact of not only the king's words but the many wounds he'd collected in the fray.

"I ha' always known you to be lordly, my boy." He heard a chuckle and turned to see Ward lying on the ground, his hand pressed firmly against a gaping wound. "Now I see why, my king."

Malin dropped down to the big man's side and placed his hands atop his friends. His first instinct to try to keep as much of the blood from escaping.

"What happened?" He asked confused. The last he'd seen Ward had been fine. He'd…Malin gulped. Ward had pushed aside Wirred's blade. "You were wounded saving me." He concluded. "You shouldn't have done that."

Ward chuckled. "You tell me only now."

Malin frowned. "It is not a jesting matter."

"I disagree." Ward continued to smile.

Malin looked at the position of the wound and the blackish cast of the blood and felt tears build in his eyes.

"What is it boy?" Ward asked gently. "It is bad, is it not?"

Malin nodded. "The wound is to your liver."

"It is mortal." Ward stated, no question in his voice. "I ha remembered that much from my meager memory of the medicine you strove so hard to teach us."

Malin nodded, suddenly unable to speak.

"It is well." Ward sighed.

"No!" Malin shouted. "It is not! You must live! You must tell me what to do!"

Ward smiled but his eyes began to blink slowly as though he were forcing them open again and again.

"Merlin." He whispered. "You have not needed me for these many months past."

Merlin shook his head. "I do need you, my friend. I need you! I cannot do this alone."

"You are not alone Merlin. You have a whole kingdom with you. You have the hopes and futures of the whole island with you. You owe me a debt. I have given my life for yours and now you must repay me."

Malin nodded. "Yes. Yes, whatever I can do for you. Name it!"

Ward was struggling now, his eyes watered with the effort of keeping them open.

"Do not stop." He whispered. "Save them. Do not stop until you have raised the just king and saved our people. You are in my debt."

"I am in your debt." Malin answered. "I swear to you I will not give up. I will not let your death be in vain, my friend."

Ward smiled sleepily and then was still.


	29. Chapter 29

**Okay, so someone was complaining that I had been away from Rory too long. For that reason I've tried to truncate the next part of the story as much as possible without, hopefully, losing the thread of the narrative. I hope I've succeeded but fitting my version of the story of Merlin into this tale was going to require a bit of stretching away from Rory as I didn't think Rory could be Merlin. I decided to make Rory the wizard in the crystal cave who trained Merlin which meant Rory would stay behind with the Pandorica while Merlin did all his legendary stuff. Rory comes back into the story at the end of this and I think to fix the 'straying too far from Rory' problem the next chapter will skip to the end of this story arc. Prepare yourselves. Malin is not long for this tale.**

* * *

><p>Malin lingered at Ward's side as long as he could but there was much that still needed to be done and eventually the men who stood waiting pressed forward for his attention.<p>

Many hours later the wounded were being taken in a steady stream to the rebel camp where they were well treated by Merlin's trained medics.

He had set teams to the unpleasant task of grave digging, explaining that it could not wait or festering flesh would spread disease among the survivors. The uninjured of the king's men were given overseers and set to the task and Malin realized he would soon have to decide what to do with them.

"Malin?" A woman's voice called to him and he turned.

"Adra!" He said surprised at how pleased he was to see her but she did not return his smile.

"I am sorry." She said. "I know that there is much you must do but this cannot wait."

"What is it?" He asked, intrigued.

"Will you come with me?" She pleaded. "Please. I do not have time to explain."

"Yes." Malin nodded. "Yes, of course."

He followed her through the cots of wounded men to a small tent and held open the flap for him.

"Briand!" He exclaimed and cursed himself for not having checked for the boy after the battle. With Ward's death and so many pressing matters his shield mate had been driven from his mind. "Briand you are hurt!"

If possible, Briand seemed even smaller stripped of his chain mail and lying prone and pail on the bed than he had on his enormous chestnut.

"It is well." The boy sighed, eerily echoing Ward's words. "I must confess." He said and he held out his hand to Malin.

Malin frowned as he knelt and took the boy's cold hand into his.

"Briand, you saved me a dozen times or more in this battle. What could you have to confess?"

Tears filled the boy's eyes and he said, "I have lied to you, sir. I am a deceitful wretch. All that I am is a lie."

"What can you mean?" Malin murmured, trying to calm him. "You are one of the truest men I have ever known."

"But I am not." Briand gasped. "I am not a man."

Malin smiled. "You may not yet have attained the years or the physique of a man, but you have a man's heart."

"No." He wailed. "You do not understand. I am not a man, not a boy. I am a girl."

The volume of the wail had caused her to breathe too deeply and she began to cough. Each cough brought up a mist of blood and Adra rushed to the other side of the cot with a cloth and helped raise her even more.

Malin found himself stroking the boy's..uh..girl's hand as though by doing so he could help her find her breath.

He turned to Adra. "Is there nothing that can be done for her?"

Adra shook her head wearily. "Her lungs are pierced and fill with blood. I have put in the reeds with the waxed bags but it only eases her breath. The blood does not stop. It is only a matter of time. I found out her secret when I removed her shirt to tend the wound. When she understood the wound was fatal she begged me to find you out."

"I had to tell you." Briand cried. "I could not bear that you would learn from another my treachery."

"Do not be absurd." Malin cried, his own eyes filling. "You have been a good soldier and a good friend to me. You are still one of the greatest people I have ever known, Briand."

"Briana," The girl corrected. Now that Malin knew her for a girl he could not believe he'd not seen it before.

"Briana." He replied. "It is a beautiful name. Almost as beautiful as you."

"I am going." She said. "I can feel it. I do not want to leave you."

"No." Malin's tears spilled. "No. I do not want you to leave either, Briana. Please stay with me lovely lass."

"I have a last confession." She whispered.

"It does not matter." Malin assured her. "Save your breath and your strength."

She shook her head. "Please." Her voice was so faint he could barely hear her.

He nodded and leaned forward.

"I … I love you. I have loved you since the first day I saw you."

He pulled back, shocked at the confession.

The girl was covered in blood and mud. Her hair was shorn and her skin pale and yet she glowed with the beauty of her love for him.

He squeezed her hand.

"I love you too, sweet lass." He wept and in the moment he knew he did not lie.

He hoped Briana heard the truth of it in his voice. He thought she must have because she, like Ward before her, died smiling.

Eventually he let go her hand and left the tent to face the new world he had set on its head.

The first thing to be addressed awaited him bound a gagged in his tent with two guards watching his every move.

As Malin entered the defeated king cringed away from him and began moaning behind the gag.

"You may go." Malin said to the guards. "If you have not eaten there is a large stew pot near the southern medical tent. Do you know it?"

One of the guards nodded. "Yes, my lord Merlin." He nodded, as close as he dared to bowing since all knew their lord loathed nothing more than being shown deference, and led his companion to the exit.

When they had gone Malin turned back to the prisoner and removed the gag.

"So, you are the one they call Merlin?" Wirred croaked. "I should have known. When the first messenger came to my halls raving about a magic worker, a sorcerer enthralling the peasantry into open rebellion, I had him killed for a rabble rouser. But the stories kept coming. A son of a demon, able to raise the dead, a puissant sorcerer and general walking among men in the guise of a boy. Some even said you were the Lost Centurion, returned to our lands at last. I never dreamed it would be you, Calden."

"Well," Malin sighed. "I never credited you with an overabundance of imagination Wirred."

Wirred stiffened. "You dare call me by my Christian name? I am king of…"

"You are king of nothing!" Malin's shouted. "All you wreak is terror and misery. You are meant to keep the law of God and the custom of men and yet you break faith with your people each and every day. You take lands that are not yours by custom. You take liberties that are not yours. You rape and pillage in defiance of both God and custom and you expect that your people will let this stand?"

Malin sat slowly; his body, young and resilient though it was could not ignore the pain of his wounds and the weariness of his bones. As he thought of them he chuckled mirthlessly.

"You will be taken to your keep." Malin began and Wirred smiled fiercely.

"Well you may smile." Malin nodded. "It is strong and if we attack those walls we will spend many months and the lives of many men to take it, if it is even possible to take it. But we will not attack."

Wirred's smile slipped.

"Did you never wonder how your brother and his wife were able to escape the keep once you marked them for death?" Malin sighed. "It was a goodly tale though they only had occasion to tell it to one other living soul. But he imparted that tale to me though he held back some of the truth of it." The Centurion had told Malin of his parents love and of their adventures but he had never told him that the man they fled was his blood uncle.

Wirred frowned and Malin sighed again. He was so tired.

"I am not your brother Calden." He said. "Your butchers were vicious but not it seems overly reliable. They murdered your brother and his wife but they failed to kill me, your nephew." He felt a mirthless smile cross his lips. "Hello, Uncle."

Wirred's horror was only slightly lessened by this revelation.

"I know the secrets of your stronghold, Uncle." Malin winced. "I do not like that name for you. I have known one dear to me whom I called Uncle though.." His voice dropped to a low murmer Wirred could not hear. "…now I see I misnamed him."

He shook himself and saw his prisoner was staring. Malin crossed to him, replaced the gag and carefully checked the restraints. Satisfied he walked to his cot and collapsed bonelessly. "Tomorrow Castle Wirred falls. Sleep if you can. It matters not to me." He closed his eyes and was instantly asleep.

The next day Malin held a tribunal. The knights were brought up one by one and rebel fighters who hailed from their lands stood forward to testify against them. There were two who were defended and Malin with the approval of all pardoned them and allowed them to retain their positions on condition that they would swear fealty to whomever the people appointed king. They consented and were allowed to go their way.

The other knights did not fare so well as man after man and even some of the women among the camp followers testified to atrocities and injustices suffered at their hands. Malin gave them the option of falling on their swords and three did. The remainder were beheaded and swiftly. There was no time for ceremony.

Malin gave all the king's loyal soldiers the option of joining the rebellion or returning to their homes. This caused a degree of murmuring among the rebel soldiers. But Malin appealed to them, reminding them that most had been forced to leave their homes as boys. "Remember," He'd pleaded. "these were once your neighbors and show mercy."

Roughly half the king's forces left the field, eagerly heading home to their villages but the other's stayed. Some convinced they had been gone too long. Some stating they had wrongs for which they sought atonement. The swelling of the rebel forces eased much of the tension but Malin knew he would have to split up the new forces as much as possible and caution his lieutenants and sergeants to keep a close eye out for tension that might cause fighting. When soldiers fought, people often died.

When all finally seemed settled and a force was left to complete the burial detail and guard the wounded, Malin set off for Wirred's Castle. They approached the fortress at dawn the next day and Malin rode out with his new second in command, Garrick.

"You know what you must do?" Malin asked and Garrick chuckled.

"Provide myself as a target."

Malin frowned. "I think target is not an accurate description. You are not to put yourself or the men in danger until…"

"Aye, aye." Garrick mollified. "Until you open the door and we all march in at our liesure. How will you accomplish this, may I ask?"

"You may ask." Malin smiled. "But I cannot tell you. Not if I wish this castle to remain a stronghold in future."

"Merlin." Garrick began all levity gone. "Have you magic, boy? I know that all you have done you say tis only learning we know not of and that if we were to learn we would be able to do as well but…but the men they do not…they think you merely call magic 'science' and seek to place yourself on equal footing with all as is your wont to do."

Malin considered this. "I have knowledge and I have come to learn that knowledge is power, great power. But believe me, my friend. There is nothing I do that you could not do also if you but learn the secret of it."

Garrick shook his head. "The same could be said for magic, Merlin."

Malin grunted in frustration. "I will never be rid of it, will I? The legend. It is why I can never be the ruler to unite our lands."

"What?" Garrick gasped. "Why?"

"If I were to take the crown, in time people would ascribe all good things to magic and all bad things as well. I would not be a man. I would be a wizard at best, a sorcerer at worst." He shook his head. "No, the ruler of this land must be a man with no taint of the supernatural about him."

Garrick leaned forward. "You are a born leader, a great general and above all a good man who cares for others first. Where shall we find such a king as to be your equal?"

Malin smiled. "You flatter me, my friend."

"No. I am not a flattering man, boy. I speak my thought."

Malin shook his head. "We do not have time for this. I must be about my 'magic'." He joked trying to lighten the mood. "Wait 'till noon then march to the gates but out of range and wait for the drawbridge to fall."

Garrick frowned. "Will you not take anyone to aid you?"

"No. I must go alone."

"As you will."

* * *

><p>"Then they say the wizard Merlin rode away from the castle. The whole of the camp saw him riding away and none saw him ride back though the whole of the castle was surrounded." Nimue breathed. "Then the army approached just as he had told them and the drawbridge fell. There stood the Wizard Merlin bloodied but whole and the rebel army charged in and took the castle with only 19 rebel souls lost. When they had secured it they brought Wirred to his hall and the Wizard had all the men and women there imprisoned testify against him."<p>

Her eyes lit with excitement and Rory smiled at the delight in her expression.

"There in the dungeons who do you suppose they found?"

Rory chuckled and shook his head. "Who lass?"

"The king's own son!" She pealed. "A boy of twelve named Egbert. He'd of late spoken out against his father and his father's cruel works. The king had placed him in chains and prescribed that he should be beaten daily until he had confessed his sin against his father and liege." Nimue shuddered at such a heartless father.

"The Wizard's advisors were loath to confess it and saddened in their hearts but they did counsel Merlin that he must kill the boy as well."

Here Nimue had Rory's full attention.

"But when they overheard this the prisoners of the dungeon rallied around the boy and though unarmed and outnumbered they swore that the rebels must needs kill them all to take the life of the boy." Nimue smiled. "When the Wizard Merlin saw this he laughed and proclaimed the boy to be a soul of stout heart, courage and above all integrity to have stood so long 'gainst injustice even 'gainst his own father. He approached the prisoners who let him pass unmolested 'till he stood before the boy and then to the wonderment of all he clasped him by the hand and pledged he would hold his life sacred."

Nimue's voice darkened. "Then they took the evil King Wirred and though the Wizard at first protested and advocated for a clean death by beheading his lieutenants protested and the men cried out that the king's punishment should be a just payment for the crimes he and his cohorts had committed. So, the Wizard took the boy Egbert away and they laid a pyre in the courtyard and burned the king to ashes."

Nimue stopped then, her eyes unreadable.

"Are you alright, dearest girl?" Rory asked, worried that a story of death by flames might stir too many unpleasant memories.

Nimue shook her head. "It is him. Isn't it? Merlin is Malin."

Rory nodded. "Yes. I believe he changed his name to keep his village safe. There is more but you must not share this with another soul."

Nimue nodded and Rory continued.

"Malin has knowledge of a secret entrance to the keep. I never spoke much of his parents other than how much loved him and each other. I did this to keep him safe but I trust you little lass. I know of all the people in this world there is only one other that may love my boy as I do and that is you. Malin's father was no troubadour fallen ill. He was the second son of the King of Essex. Though he was the second son he was favored by his father the king and when his wife grew heavy with child the eldest, Wirred, feared that he might lose his place. Being a conniver, Wirred could not imagine that his brother did not seek power. So, he planned to murder his own father and brother, even his brother's wife. But he came for the father first and a servant ran to warn the prince Calden. Calden alone knew the story his father had learned from his great grandfather. When he was a boy and the foundations of the castle being laid, workmen broke through to a large cavern. In the cavern was a lake fed by a stream that appeared to flow into the mountain yet if a man could keep his courage and his breath he could gain both entrance and exit. The way was sealed but the king determined that a door should be made in the case of a desperate escape and for such cause was it first used. Wirred never knew how his brother escaped his grasp."

Nimue sat silent for a long time absorbing this.

"So..so Malin is..a prince?"

Rory smiled. "The son of a second son but, yes. He is a prince of Essex."

"A prince? Me?" A voice laughed, startling Rory and Nimue. "Heaven forbid."

"Malin!" Nimue screeched and ran toward him but stopped short, suddenly hesitant.

Malin stared at her for a long while, seeming to struggle with what to say.

"They told me." He finally murmured. "In the village when first I arrived the first person to greet me was your mother. She fell on my neck weeping and blessing me for having returned. I didn't understand but then she said…she said you were alive and began babbling about mistakes and my poor Uncle and then she just fell to begging my forgiveness over and over." He shuddered. "It was most unpleasant. Your father thankfully pulled her away long enough for me to forgive her and then I came here straight away."

Malin looked around the cavern, taking in the emptiness. Then he approached Rory.

"I will not fall on your neck and weep but.." He fell to one knee before Rory. "I will beg your forgiveness. I was so sure I knew…but I knew nothing of battle or death or war. I understand better now and I know you…"

But he could not finish because Rory had pulled him up and was embracing him with such force he could scarcely breath.

"My boy." Rory cried. "Oh my boy. You came back. I thought…" He released Malin and held him at arm's length, drinking in the sight of him. "I thought I might never see you again."

"I am sorry." Malin wept. "I am so sorry, Father."

Rory's eyebrows lifted.

"I have met my Uncle and many more beside. You are not my Uncle. You are my father and I would call you such if you will let me."

Rory nodded, unable to speak at first. "Yes, Malin. I would be honored to call you son." He shook himself, trying to ease the emotion of the room and noticing that Nimue still stood uneasily. "Nimue has been telling me the tales of your exploits Wizard Merlin."

Malin let loose a groan so reminiscent of his childhood it stripped away all the grandeur of his appearance. "I have told them so many times past I am not a Wizard but tis hopeless. I fear I will forever be one in their eyes."

Rory laughed. "I know the feeling."

Malin turned to Nimue, suddenly shy. "I..I fear I do not know how to…to beg your forgiveness."

Nimue frowned suddenly confused.

"I should not have left. I should not have despaired. You are right to be angry with me and to let me believe you dead. It is only justice…"

But Nimue had rushed to him. "You? Ask forgiveness of me? No! It is I who owe you the apology. I..my vanity..my doubt of you. That I would think you so shallow of character to turn away at the sight of me. It was badly done and I wounded you and your dear Uncle..Father deeply. I…"

But Malin had gathered her in his arms and cut off her protests with a kiss. Rory stepped back and placed his hand on the Pandorica wishing to somehow share this moment of happiness with Amy.

Somewhere near the entrance someone cleared their throat. Rory looked up, half expecting to see Kara or Fornac but instead he saw a boy of about 12 looking very uncomfortable.

Malin broke away from the kiss, laughing. "Egbert, my lad. I am sorry. I know what it is like to be subjected to kisses at your age."

"I am sorry, Merlin, but I grew lonely waiting and you said t'would be but a moment. I grew anxious."

"As well you should. It was churlish of me to leave you there so long. Come!"

Egbert approached, his mouth gaping and his eyes huge as he took in the glowing walls and the Pandorica.

"Egbert, this is my Father, the Last Centurion."

It didn't seem possible but the boy's eyes grew even larger.

"Father, I have a great boon to ask." Malin said. "I have establish Garrick as king of Essex though the right should fall to Egbert but I have another plan for him. It will take many years for us to establish the strength of Essex and gather what allies we may but then our plan is to take mastery of all the kingdoms and appoint a ruler over all."

He put his hands on Egbert's slight shoulders. "I believe that Egbert is that ruler. He is quick witted, a good fighter, a born leader and most of all, he has a great and true heart. He cares for the needs of others before himself. But he needs time away from the courts. He needs training. Father, he needs you."

Malin looked around the cavern. "I did not think to see this place so much changed."

Rory sighed. "You were not the only one to despair."

Malin's eyes watered. "I am sorry, Father. I am so sorry. I would like to say that I did not mean to hurt you but the truth is I did. I was angry and stupid. I was a petty child who did not know of what he spoke and I am so very sorry."

Rory smiled. "I could forgive anything of you, I think. I love you, Malin. I will always love you."

"I love you, too." Malin smiled.

Rory laughed and hugged him close in a long embrace.

"Well, it is a small matter to make a table and chairs. You needed a new bed regardless and I will build one also for the boy."

"Father, I cannot stay." Malin said sadly.

Rory's expression froze for a moment then he smiled, shaking his head. "Of course. Of course, you cannot. Silly old man. You must be building these alliances and preparing the way."

Malin nodded.

"Well, but you can still visit? Can you not?" And Rory could not keep the pleading from his voice.

Malin smiled. "I will. Though I must come in secret. I do not want to expose you to the world. I have seen how legends fare. And Egbert must be kept secret and safe until it is time for him to take up his place in the world."

Rory looked a hard long look at Merlin. "You are impossible." He said suddenly to the surprise of all.

"What do you mean, Centurion?" Nimue gasped.

"It isn't, is it?" He asked, turning to the Pandorica. "He's Merlin, yet how can he be? Merlin is a legend in our time but Malin would have died without me and I wasn't in our timeline so how is it possible? If he's Merlin, then the boy is…"

He stopped talking but stayed facing the Pandorica as though in a trance.

"Father?" Malin asked, worried. "Father, what ails you?"

Rory shook himself. "Nothing. Just the impossibility of the universe." But he muttered. "Is this what he meant? All those times he spoke of fixed points? The universe will see to it that certain things happen no matter how badly we disrupt the timelines?"

"Father?" Malin's voice was fairly dripping with concern and Rory turned back to him trying to smile.

"If Egbert is going to stay here in hiding he will need a new name and I've the perfect one."

He reached out and laid a gentle hand on the boy's head. "I dub you, Arthur, King of the Britons."


	30. Chapter 30

**How** **to write this note? I need to explain why I haven't posted in so long and yet, I don't want to tell a long story. I guess the short version is I got sick again and then someone I love very much died. I was physically unwell and tired but also emotionally drained. I started to recover from the loss and then I lost someone else. I got a few messages of people asking why I hadn't posted anything and it made me feel very guilty. I'd grab my laptop and say, "You're going to keep writing this." I'd force myself to write but what ended up on the screen was soulless. I finally ended up writing stories about my Grandmother. Random things like how we lived across the street from my school so I always walked home for lunch and how eventually I was bringing home my friends and she was like an unofficial secondary cafeteria. And how we'd visit all the widows in the neighborhood, cut their grass, do their shopping, and fill their weird daily pill dose boxes for them. How I don't remember her ever telling me growing up that I should be generous and compassionate but she was always helping people and not just helping them but caring for them. She didn't just clean up the house for those old ladies or take them to the store, she'd sit and hold their hands and talk to them and let them tell their stories about their kids or husbands. Also just memories like picking plums and making jam. I wrote stories about my friend, too. I don't know if it was just writing something that helped get my writing juices flowing or if getting all that stuff out of me made me feel better enough to get creative again. Doesn't really matter because it worked. I sat down this past week and finally wrote something about Arthur, Malin and Rory that was logical to me and felt emotionally honest. I hope that makes sense. I am really sorry about the extremely long delay in updating this story.**

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><p>"Up, up, up! Arthur!" Rory barked. "Keep your guard up! You're as bad as Malin."<p>

The teenager's pale skin made his blushing radiate so brightly it fairly shimmered with heat. For a moment, Rory lost focus as he considered the fact that he had not blushed in centuries. His makers had seemed to make provision for a coloration of his skin due to exertion, relative temperature, but not shame. Perhaps they hadn't understood the concept.

Perhaps Rory hadn't ought to lose focus. He registered the strong blow across his midsection as pain and doubled over as his robotic mind processed the sensation.

"Uncle!" Arthur dropped his blunted sword in horror. "I did not mean to hurt you! If I had known you would not stop the blow I would have held back. Forgive me! You've always stopped me before!"

Rory chuckled from his bent position. "Stop, stop, Arthur. The fault is mine."

"Are you alright?" Arthur asked, his hands on Rory's shoulders.

"Yes, I am." Rory stood and ruffled Arthur's blond and rough cut hair. "I am more than fine. I am proud of you. You saw an opening and you took advantage. Well done."

Arthur glowed again, this time basking in the praise and Rory smiled back.

"Now, I will …"

Rory cut off the sentence and focused his well-tuned ears to the South.

Arthur waited patiently, knowing from experience what Rory's stance indicated and that any questions would only interfere.

"Riders." Rory said at last. "At least a dozen heading for the village."

Arthur raised his eyebrows inquiringly and when Rory nodded as though agreeing, Arthur dropped the blunted blade and ran to the back of the large underground chamber in a practiced way. He disappeared into a small branch tunnel and soon the tunnel opening disappeared as Arthur placed an incredibly convincing false wall within the gap. Rory felt fairly confident that he could defend Arthur against an attack, but he was very confident he didn't want to have to kill to save the boy.

Rory returned to his tense stance and listened. The riders stopped in the village and then two riders continued forward, skirting the mountain until out of sight of the village and only then continuing upward. There were two horses but the tread of the second was considerably lighter than the first. Rory had begun to smile when the riders turned up the mountain, imagining that it might be Malin and perhaps Nimue. Now, the smile faded. Even Nimue wouldn't ride so light. The horse's saddle was empty.

Rory turned to the hidden tunnel that housed his most recently adopted son and sighed.

When Malin arrived Arthur's small collection of belongings were packed in a single bag and he stood with tears in his eyes.

Malin chuckled. "I see I am expected. Perhaps next time I will come on foot."

"Even on foot, Uncle would hear you." Arthur replied, with a proud grin despite the shimmering eyes.

"Yes, I think he might."

The two chuckled but the happy sound was soon replaced by an uncomfortable silence. It seemed that all three knew what must come next but none wanted to speak it.

Rory finally broke the stillness. His intention was to say what was on all of their minds, to say Malin had come to collect Arthur but instead what emerged from his lips was, "Can you come in and visit for a while?" And Rory was shocked by the longing in his voice, so sharp and palpable even he could hear it.

"I…" Malin hesitated and his eyes darted in the direction of the village where his escort stood waiting, but then he seemed to come to a decision. "Yes." He smiled. "Yes, I am owed at least a short visit with you, Father. The kingdom can give us an hour."

Rory could not help but grin at the moniker. He found that in the years since Malin first returned with little Arthur in tow, he always grinned like a gratified child when Malin called him father.

Rory gestured them inside and 'the boys', as Rory referred to them mentally, sat by the fire while Rory arranged the tea.

"I'd offer to help but I remember how particular you are, Father." Malin chuckled and Arthur rolled his eyes in response.

"At last someone knows my troubles!" He sighed exaggeratedly. "Nimue-" Arthur stopped short and blushed.

"Go on," Malin said smiling, "It does not pain me to hear of her."

Arthur gulped but continued, "Nimue always teased me about my complaints because Uncle's food and drink is so fine but there is a price for such perfection."

Malin nodded but Rory noted his smile did not reach his eyes. Three years later and the impact of Nimue's decision to join one of the newly established Nunneries had lessened but Rory feared her memory would always haunt Malin. He had begged her with every visit to join him in the capital and in the preparations he was making for Arthur's return to the throne but she steadfastly refused. She confessed to Rory on the day she left to take her vows that while her heart was drawn to a life of meditation and caring for the poor, she knew she was also running away from Malin. _I cannot bear it. _She'd whispered, her hand on her scarred cheek. _I cannot bear to be so visible._ She'd insisted that Malin was young and so kind, wise and handsome; he'd soon find another love and she would be a distant memory. Rory had already exhausted every argument he could conjure to convince her that his boy, his Malin, would never love another like her. Looking at him now, he wished he'd thought of something more, something better to say. Perhaps one day Nimue would finally believe in the depth of Malin's devotion but he feared that realization would come too late for both of them. He tried to banish those sad thoughts as he approached with his tray.

"So," Rory said, placing a pot of robust herbal tea and a plate of biscuits made sweet with his beet sugar before the boys who snatched at the plate, claiming as many as they could.

"Hold on!" Malin protested when Arthur managed to secure a larger pile. "It's been over a year since I've had such treats and I'll warrant you've had them every night this week!"

"Yes, well" Arthur mumbled, his mouth full "I will soon be gone and must get them while I may."

Malin's eyes dropped guiltily to the ground and Rory sighed. Eventually even Arthur noticed that he'd let the forbidden subject out and his voracious appetite abated.

"So, all the preparations have been made, I take it?" Rory said at last.

"Yes, Father." Malin cleared his throat. "We have concentrated, of course, on peaceful negotiations and two of the more fair minded Kings have joined us. They say they are willing to work with me and are cautiously optimistic of Arthur's rule. I think it is easier for them because their laws were already in keeping with the justice we demand. But word of the peace and prosperity of our kingdom has spread and many serfs have escaped the harsher task masters to our borders seeking freedom. Even freemen have turned from their fields."

"Are they not a pestilence?" Arthur asked. "With so many landless families seeking aid, does it not drain your provisions?"

"It well could have, yes." Malin nodded. "It was difficult at first to convince my fellows of their potential."

"Potential for what?" Arthur asked and Rory smiled at his frank curiosity.

"When the travelers began to arrive, we used the stores laid up by the old King to feed them but immediately set them to work doing that which they knew best, farming. It was a fight to convince my captains that they should go to those fields and not the training fields. There were many lands claimed by the king and lying unused. It was a simple thing to make shelters to house the humble belongings they carried. Our soldiers also were plucked from their training and joined them in the fields though with even more grumbling." Malin smiled at the memory. "Soon, however, all took note of the advantages of working together and of using certain techniques for increasing crop yields and preserving the harvests."

Malin paused to chew a biscuit and sip his tea but Arthur waited so eagerly to hear more and with such pained patience that he abandoned the attempt with a martyr's sigh.

He picked up another one of the biscuits and smiled. "For example, beets. We used them for sugar, a process which some already understood. However, very few understood as Father taught me that the sticky syrup, the molasses though it tastes foul, can be fed to the livestock and that doing so made the beasts much healthier. Their numbers increased dramatically and there was great trade for families who planted even small beet crops."

Malin popped the biscuit in his mouth and allowed himself a smile as Arthur watched him chew and swallow it down with another gulp of the tea.

"Oh Father, I wish I could have this tea back at the castle."

Rory nodded, "You shall. Since your last visit I have been laying up a store of it for you."

Malin's mouth hung open for a moment before stretching into a smile that threatened to overtake his ears.

"Is there nothing you do not consider?"

"When it comes to my children, I think not." Rory chuckled. "Even if I had the ability to sleep, I fear thoughts of you would keep me from it."

Malin nodded but sadly and Rory hurried on before he could be distracted from his tale by Rory's woes.

"And did you gather enough food to feed all of the refugees?"

Malin nodded. "Yes, and more. We decided to reduce the amount taken as tax but the harvests were larger than many had ever seen and we stored more than we thought possible. It was a good thing, too, for even more hungry and desperate souls made their way to us in the winter months."

He sipped his tea and Arthur refilled his cup fastidiously as though he feared a parched throat would prevent Malin from speaking.

"During the winter, though the livestock still needed tending, there was little farm work needed doing." He continued. "The troops we'd assembled began training and many of the refugees joined them. I worried at first that we'd run out of food. But as it turns out the portion of the crops the King took as tax were often sold in order to increase his wealth. Without that drain, the harvest was more than enough to feed those soldiering. Also, many of their families had extra stores as well and stood ready to feed their loved ones should our supplies fail, but they did not."

Malin shook his head as if still unable to believe it.

"It amazes me that so many have struggled and starved and even died in winters past when such small efforts at organization, support and common decency made the winter so easy to bear."

Rory nodded. "Yes, well, that's man. Not even human nature, just, I suppose, sentience nature. We want more when we should be satisfied. We are warned against gluttony and many think of it as something only related to food or eating but it's not. It's hunger, yes, but we can be hungry for anything; power, admiration, renown, comfort, anything. It's hard from some people to be happy with enough and often in order to have more, they take from others."

"Well, there are still those who look for more in our new kingdom." Malin frowned. "We still have thieves. We still find corruption in those trusted with power. It is saddening but we root it out and face it as we face all the things we must."

His eyes fell on Arthur.

"It's time isn't it?" The boy said.

"Yes, I am afraid it is." Malin answered. "Your kingdom has grown in your absence. The people tell stories about you and how you stood up to your father, protecting others at the risk of your own life."

He chuckled, "You should hear some of the stories they tell. They say that there is a magic king of the mountain. That I sent you away to be trained by him."

Rory frowned, memories tickling at the edges of his concentration. He shook his head as though to banish them.

"I have his things ready." He said, his voice taunt and he placed a hand on Arthur's shoulder and squeezed gently.

Soon the three were standing again at the mouth of the cave and Arthur's pack was strapped securely to his mount.

"Father," Malin smiled, "before I go I have a gift for you."

Rory frowned. "For me?"

"Yes, a sword."

Rory's confusion appeared to deepen. "A sword? Why would you get me a sword?"

"Well, I can't be sure but I believe…" Malin had turned to his own horse and was fiddling with various bindings. "…that I am not _giving_ you a sword so much as returning it."

When he turned back he was holding something Arthur had not seen in centuries.

"That's…" Rory stopped, not sure if he believed what he was seeing. "Is that? Is that my gladius?"

Malin shrugged. "I have no way of knowing with certainty. A young man, a boy really, who joined us recently carried it. I recognized the design as the design you always used when fashioning our practice blades."

Rory started a bit. He had not consciously realized he'd created the wooden and blunted blades in the Roman fashion.

"When I asked him about it, he claimed it had been in his family for generations. A gift from the mythical Last Centurion. The proof of his claim, he said, lay in the strength of the blade itself which never tarnished and was stronger than any other in the world." Malin looked up and met Rory's eyes. "I assumed it was yours."

Rory reached out and took the hilt and pulled it free of the ornamental scabbard that encased it.

The blade shone in the fading sunlight of the day. It had been well cared for. Once removed from the fantastically tooled leather, the sword was quite plain; almost painfully utilitarian. But Rory's hand remembered the heft of it and the balance, the alien strength of it. His fingers seemed to lock into place on the hilt as though they were interlocking joints carved from the same manufacturer. He saw his reflection in the smooth metal and it occurred to him that in a way they were. After all, weren't man and blade fashioned by the same creatures?

He sighed and placed the sword back into the sheath, ignoring the empty scabbard still strapped to his waist.

"No." He said, shaking his head. "It is not my sword. Not anymore."

He took sword and scabbard from Malin and in a few steps he stood before Arthur.

"It is your sword now, Arthur my lad." The boy took the proffered sword almost reverently and Rory ruffled his hair, uncomfortable with the sudden ceremony of it all.

"Thank you, Uncle." Arthur said. "I don't…I don't know what to say."

Rory thought for a moment and then, reaching out a hand to Arthur's shoulder he answered, "Say that you will be a good king. Say that you will only use this sword when there is no other choice. Say that you will listen to your cousin, Malin and continue what he has started; a community where people work for the common good and not for greed." Rory smiled. "Say that you won't forget about me up here alone in my mountain."

Arthur hugged Rory fiercely. "I won't forget you, Uncle. Never!" He pulled back and tried unsuccessfully to wipe away a few stubborn tears before anyone noticed them. "I will make you proud of me. I promise!"

"I know you will." Rory smiled, his throat catching. "Go on, you two." He said briskly. "Go on before Malin's men come looking for him. The last thing I need is a whole squad showing up and trampling all my herbs."

Malin and Arthur's eyes met and they grinned mischievously. "Yes, Uncle." Arthur chuckled.

Rory watched them riding carefully down the mountain. He watched them circle around and when he lost sight of them he listened as they rode down to the village and then off into the distance.

Finally, he could no longer make out the hoof beats and he sank to the ground as though boneless which, he supposed, he technically was. The thought only lowered his spirits even more.

He remained there for some time. He did not want to go into the cave. For the first time in his long life, he did not turn to Amy to ease his grief. The thought of Amy only made it worse. The enormity of time weighed on him as though he were buried beneath the roots of the mountain on which he stood. Malin and Arthur would grow old and die and turn to dust and legend and Amy would still not awake. She would not know them. How many more lives would Rory live between now and then?

For the first time the time itself, the seemingly endless waiting was not his chief concern. He now faced the horrible prospect that the end would not be the end. Being reunited with Amy would not wipe it all away because now there was something so dear to him, his children, and he could never share it with her. His mind flashed through the memories of Arthur's first days, weeks and months. He was so timid. He had an ingrained empathy, kindness and passion for justice but this had been met with such cruelty. He was so loving and so desperate for Rory's affection and approval and yet simultaneously afraid of it. No. Not afraid of it. Afraid of enjoying it and having it stripped away. It had taken years to reassure the boy that Rory was not going to eventually turn on him. Arthur was so naturally loving that he could not grasp how his father could be so cruel and had decided that there must be something wrong with him. Rory eventually discovered that Arthur had spent nights pretending to sleep but kept awake by the dread that this defect he could not understand but must exist in him would be laid bare and Rory would take away the love he cherished so much. How could Rory ever explain the impact of that to Amy? How could he explain the magic of the boy's laugh after so much suffering? The magic of Malin's gurgled giggles as a babe?

Rory's head bowed as a realization dawned in his mind. He wouldn't have to explain it all to Amy because he wouldn't remember. A pain greater than almost any he'd ever imagined bloomed in his chest.

One day Rory would forget his children.

He had driven himself to the edge of madness trying to hold onto something, his friends had shared bits and pieces of it. He had flashes of what had come before at all hours of the day and night but none of it was real and now his boys…

Rory rolled forward, his head pressed to the ground and cried. All too soon he would lose them, every trace of them and he couldn't stand it.

"Why?" He screamed at the starless sky. "Why must I lose them? I can't! Please! Please don't take them away! You take everything! Please not them. Please. Please not them."

No one and nothing answered but Rory could not stop begging. He imagined if he were still a man he would have cried himself to sleep begging time, the universe, anything that might possibly look down on him in his misery and show him kindness, to not take the memory of his children away. But he was not a man. He was the thing that had killed Amy and he could never escape into mindless slumber. "I know," He said at last. "I know I deserve to be punished. But this..." He gasped as though in physical pain, "...not this. This is more than I can bear. Please. Please..."

Eventually, the emotions burning his throat and eyes dulled, leaving Rory exhausted. As though a fire had burned through all of his energy and will and left nothing but a listless vapor. He turned back to the cave, and the Pandorica, and Amy.

Whatever he lost, he would still have Amy.

He stood before the box.

"How will I ever tell you?" He whispered.

Finally he reached out and touched it. He felt the old familiar hum that told him Amy was still in there, still alive, still Amy. He let himself lean his forehead against the box and steal a moment of peace.


	31. Chapter 31

Arthur kept his promises. He united the many feudal kingdoms and his rule empowered his people. It educated them and taught them an abiding love of community and freedom. He also made secret trips to Rory's mountain and often said he felt such happiness and peace nowhere else.

And when he died, too young, after all was said and done and all the speeches and ceremonies ended; Malin returned him to his home in the mountain and the crystal cave. He returned the gladius to Rory and told him the legends that had risen around it. How it had been named Excalibur and of the legendary mountain king who placed it in a stone until the worthy Arthur pulled it free. Rory had snorted through his tears at that and muttered, "Legends." Malin chuckled in reply and a sad silence settled over the two men.

"Now he's a legend." Malin sighed. "It's already started."

"You have no idea, my son." Rory smiled. "You, too."

Malin frowned. "Me?"

"Oh, yes." Rory smiled. "They know you as Merlin in my time. You are the legendary wizard of Arthur, the great king. I think I dressed as you at a fancy dress party once actually. Huh."

"Father." Malin began, "You say that, 'my time', often. What is your time?"

Rory considered the question for such a long time, Malin thought he might have angered him. But eventually Rory spoke, his voice was leaden with weariness.

"It is a very long time from now; over one thousand years."

Malin's eyes watered from the sheer pain in Rory's voice. "Father, I am so sorry."

Rory shook his head. "No, it is time for me to explain. You are certainly old enough."

Rory harvested the luminous rocks from the caverns and built a cairn. He patiently piled them one atop the other, fusing them with the precise heat of his laser until his darling boy, Arthur, was encased in a tomb of light. As he worked, he told the story of Amy, her raggedy doctor and the awkward boy who loved her.

When it was all done Malin stood staring at what his father had wrought and reeling from the tale. "It is truly fit for a king, Father." He whispered.

Rory turned away, "And one hundred years from now I might happen upon it and not even know what it was."

"I-I don't want to lose you." Rory sighed grasping Malin's arms and staring at him as though trying to memorize every detail. This was unnecessary, of course. Rory already knew him by heart. "I loved Arthur. I love him still. I love you, my boy. I don't want to lose you, too. I don't want to forget."

Malin pulled Rory into a hug and squeezed tightly; wishing his love could somehow erase his father's pain and knowing it could not.

Rory recovered himself. He pretended he was feeling better and Malin pretended to believe him because neither could think of anything else to do.

The years passed. Malin grew older and wiser and withdrew from public life and politics, retreating in secret to his mountain home. Rory delighted in his company and the two took long walks through the caves and around the mountain; talking as they went. As Malin grew more and more frail, the walks grew shorter and more infrequent and finally stopped altogether. In time Rory was caring for Malin in much the same way he had when he'd first brought him home all those decades past.

Until one night Malin woke in a state of great excitement.

"Father?" He called weakly. "Father? Are you there?"

"Yes, my boy." Rory answered, trotting to the old man's bed. "I'm right here, son. What is it? What has you so upset?"

"Not upset, Father." Malin wheezed. "Not upset. I think I have it. I think I can save you."

"Save me?" Rory frowned. "Malin, you're not making sense. Save me from what?"

"From the years." Malin explained. "From forgetting."

Rory's eyebrows rose. "How?"

"The door." Malin gasped. "The wall has a door. Remember the tall buildings. You told me of the buildings and…and you told me of the special doors to keep the air," Malin coughed weakly, "to keep the warm air from rising up."

Rory remembered discussing the future with Malin in one of their many conversations and discussing skyscrapers and their revolving doors.

"Change the door." Malin gasped, gripping Rory's arm with surprising strength. "You…you have been sealing the door to keep the memories back but…but if you change the door. They can come and go but…"he coughed again, "but only in small amounts. Don't you see? Nothing would be lost, it would not all be present but it would all be within your grasp. Do you see, Father? Do you understand?"

Rory nodded, patting the wrinkled hand. "Yes, my boy, I understand. Don't worry about it. It's alright, Malin. I understand."

Malin loosened his grip and sighed. "Good." He sighed. "Good. Now, that's good."

He closed his eyes. Soon he was sleeping and then suddenly he wasn't.

Rory knew the instant he left, the moment the man before him stopped being his boy and became an empty vessel. And he knew too that it was useless but he cradled his boy in his arms and begged him to come back.

Rory laid the old man down next to the much younger Arthur and built a new shimmering tomb next to the old one for the babe who'd become his boy and died an old man in his arms.

That night Rory sat by the fire. It wasn't necessary. He didn't need the heat but it felt right to have it.

Rory sat thinking of that last conversation. Finally he closed his eyes and faced the wall in his mind. The horrific feelings of Amy's death were not unlike the crushing grief of the past few days and perhaps that acclimation made his task easier.

He had crafted the wall out of pain and the door out of grief. Now he lived that grief again as he dismantled the seal. Malin had said to change the door. But how? How could he leave it open without being overcome? Finally, Rory took a chance and pulled on the memories of his life in the mountain: the village, Nimue, Arthur and Malin. He pushed the memories toward the gap but kept cycling through them in his mind. As he focused on one of the memories being tucked away the others would fade but when a related memory was triggered they shot back into focus. The other memories would drift further and further back.

He thought of Malin's birth and Calden's voice mentioned a name. Elwyna.

The memory of the birth faded back into nothingness and was replaced with a face he instantly recognized. Memories of the girl, mother and old woman cycled through his mind. He was able to see her smile and hear her laugh and he felt the warmth of her touch.

He pulled back from the wall and took in the cold remains of the fire. What was he doing? He had been thinking of Malin.

The memory flowed easily to him and Rory stifled a cry, grateful that it was still there. He didn't feel the incredible lightness he suddenly remembered feeling after locking away his memories. The wall was there, it still stood, but the door had changed. Instead of a glaring barrier of grief and guilt, it was strong but inviting. Rory realized the door was no longer constructed out of the memory of Amy's death. No. It was Malin. The memory of his son, his boy who was now beyond his reach forever was painful enough to hold steady but still filled with love and peace, still welcoming.

He realized gratefully that Malin would never leave him now. Malin was the door through which all other memories ventured. The dear little boy had opened Rory's heart. He'd saved his sanity, his soul and now his memories.

Rory walked past the Pandorica. He walked down into the mountain to the shining tomb and placed his hand over the warm glow that would now forever hide away the face that he loved so dearly.

"You are with me still." He whispered. "You stand guard over my memories, my darling boy."

Finally, he forced his artificial body to move away. He paused by the Pandorica and touched the humming stone.

"How will I ever explain this to you?" He asked.

"Oh well," He said at last. "I've a few centuries to figure it out."

Then he strode toward the exit of the caves. He wanted to get out and feel the sun again. But he soon realized he might have a bit less time than he'd imagined.


	32. Chapter 32

Rory strode toward the exit of the cave network, his mind cycling through memories still barely able to believe what he was doing. It was a bit disconcerting that once a memory was gone it seemed to instantly disappear but it was still so much better than the alternative that Rory was absolutely giddy with excitement. That might be why he missed so much, like the fact that as he approached the exit, the tunnel grew darker instead of lighter.

In fact, Rory was so caught up in his newly acquired ability that he walked right into the wall.

He sat on the hard floor of the cave for a moment unable to process what had happened.

"What?"

Since when was there a wall?

He wondered for a moment if he'd been so caught up he'd taken a wrong turn but soon saw that was not the case. The wall before him wasn't the solid rock of a naturally formed cave wall. It was stone and mortar, a constructed wall.

"What?"

Rory jumped to his feet and touched the wall, half expecting it to disappear as though it were a really cheeky hallucination that when faced with the reality of his actual hand actually touching it would shamefacedly apologize and retreat to whatever corner of his mind had dreamt it up.

But no. The wall stubbornly insisted on continuing its existence.

"What?!"

Rory ran his hands over the surface of the wall, looking for some kind of gap, crack, hinge or door handle perhaps but it was a well-constructed and completely solid wall.

Rory retreated a few steps and regarded the wall for a few more incredulous moments before turning on his heel and trotting back to the Pandorica.

Once back in the large chamber he examined his surroundings very carefully and was completely blown away by what he found. The bed Malin had been in just yesterday, that bed was covered in dust and the bedding was in tatters.

The other furniture also appeared to be in a dreadful state. What on Earth had happened?

Rory paced around a bit from sheer nerves. That's when he noticed the book.

A book didn't belong in this time and certainly didn't belong on his dining table.

He reached for it carefully as if it might jump or, or maybe spark at him the way the sonic screwdrivers had done. But the book just sat there being a book.

After another brief pause Rory picked it up, feeling foolish. Upon picking it up, he realized it wasn't actually a book at all. It resembled one, being rectangular and covered in leather but it was actually a sort of book shaped box. However, when he opened it he found several sheets of paper neatly stacked inside. He gasped because, though the writing was a bit shaky, he recognized it immediately.

"My dear Centurion" Nimue began. "I have left these words in the hopes that you will soon awake. I know not if you were aware of us or if you were, as you seemed to us, insensible. I will assume that you know not what has transpired and will explain ought I know."

Rory would have grinned if he were not so confused. The letter was so logical, so matter of fact, so Nimue. How he had missed her.

"Gardon was sent up to my house and delivered a message to the Abbess that I was desperately needed." She continued. "He would not disclose to her why I was needed and I instantly knew that it must be ought to do with you, else he would have explained. I was able to convince her to let me go though she was quite vexed I also refused to tell what I suspected."

"I arrived to find the village in turmoil over your fate. I was told of Malin's death almost as an afterthought. I am a very old woman and have been a bride of our Lord for so long I believe that most had forgotten how close I came to allowing myself to be with Malin that none thought such news would affect me as it did."

Rory felt the old regret for his son who it seemed had decided to follow in his father's footsteps and wait for the woman he loved.

"I always hoped," The letter continued. "that one day I would hear news in the kingdom that the great wizard Merlin had taken a wife. Any time I got news from the village I hoped to hear how he had found someone. But he never did, did he? I thought he would move on. I wish that he had found happiness with another. He was a very good man and I am so very sorry for your loss, my friend."

Rory's eyes watered with sudden heat and he was forced to pause until he was able to blink away the wetness.

"When I had composed myself, I took a horse up the mountain. I am too old to make that journey afoot and, I confess, I am near too old to make it on horseback. I found you kneeling and though you were warm to the touch you were still as stone. I know not what spell has befallen you but my hope is that you are being given respite from your grief."

"You will, upon reading this letter, find yourself entombed. The people of the village know that there are some who occasion by and ask about the king of the mountain. Some ask about the wizard of the crystal cave and still others even ask about the Lone Centurion. It is feared that some might stumble upon this cave and you and the Pandorica. You must be kept safe my friend until the curse laid upon you can be lifted. So, the wall is our answer."

Rory shook his head. It would not have been an easy thing to seal the entrance and he was touched by their care for him.

"I do not know how long you will stay as you are, my friend. You do not look grieved and I hope that whatever has befallen you, you are at peace and will soon wake to the time when you will be freed from your charge. Live well, dear Uncle. Peace be with you. Nimue."

Rory turned the page but there was nothing more.

So, he had been insensible again. He supposed it made sense. The first time he'd stored away his memories it had taken decades. The second time it had been nearly instantaneous but all that had been required was to open a door that stood ready. This time, he'd had to sort through his memories, dismantle the existing door and create a new, much more complex one. How long had that taken? He wondered.

"Well," He said to no one in particular. "I suppose there's only one way to find out."

He walked purposefully to the walled off entrance and pulled out his gladius. He carefully loosened the mortar around several stones before it occurred to him he could use his laser. After that realization the work went much more quickly. It was not long before he'd loosened the first stone and kicked it free. The sun was out and shot through the opening with a cheerful, almost welcoming energy and Rory smiled.

It took more time than he had thought it would and the sun deserted him before he cleared an opening large enough for himself. He stooped and squeezed his way through into the moonlight. He stood in the open air and drank it in. It wasn't necessary for him to breath and he could stop any time it was problematic. The air in the caves when he'd awoken had been so stale and foul it had seemed to burn his nostrils. It was nice to take a breath again.

He turned and looked back at the cave and, once again, he was surprised.

The wall that he'd faced and partially dismantled had been plain stone and mortar. On this side of the wall it was plastered and painted. Rory's mouth fell open as he saw what was depicted. The Pandorica is what caught his eye first. Around it, there were men assembled and kneeling, their faces reverent. The area to the right of the Pandorica was the part of the wall Rory had dismantled and yet he could still see remnants of a figure. He recognized edges of Roman dress. All that remained of the face was the nose but Rory found it sufficient.

"What?"

That couldn't be Rory. It had to be Rory but it couldn't be him. There was a halo over his head like, like some kind of religious icon or saint.

"It's you! I knew it was!"

Rory whirled to face the sharp voice and found a pale face peeking at him over a nearby boulder. The boy's eyes grew wide and he jerked as though about to run. Rory thought better of that. In a leap he closed the distance and had a hand full of collar.

The boy screamed wordlessly and seemed at first to not hear Rory's gentle attempts to calm him.

At last Rory shouted in frustration, "Shut UP!" which had the desired effect. The boy's mouth hung open but made no more noise.

"That's better." Rory said. "Sorry, didn't mean to frighten you. If I let go will you stay put?"

The pale face nodded.

"Good." Rory let go of the collar. "Now, we're going to have a chat, if it please you."

Another nod, staring.

"Excellent." Rory sighed. "Just now you said 'It's you' what did you mean? Who is it that you think I am?"

"You-You're the saint who waits." The boy gulped.

Now it was Rory's turn to stare.

"Pardon me, but did you just say _SAINT?_" He demanded and the boy shrank away from the volume of his voice.

"Sorry. Sorry." Rory said, his voice lowered and he hoped calming. "I didn't mean to startle you again. It's just I'm confused. I'm not a saint."

"But you are!" The boy insisted, regaining quite a bit of confidence. "You are the man in the mountain. The man who never dies. The healer. They say that you can even raise the dead! Many people come to the shrine in the village for healing but this place is a secret." He dropped his voice to a whisper. "I'm not supposed to know about it but I followed old man Rogan up last evening." He smirked. "He suspected naught!"

Rory realized his mouth was open and closed it with a snap. He turned away from the boy's earnest expression but that unfortunately only brought him face to face with what was left of the iconic mural on the sealed cave entrance. He turned from that and began pacing back and forth, shaking his head as though by doing so the world might sort itself back to normalcy. Finally he stopped and declared, "But I'm not even religious!"


End file.
